Road Rage
by Jilly-chan
Summary: AU--Road Rage is a small indy theater. An actress there, Juri comes to terms with her past loves, her present posibilities, and accepting her future. An ensemble cast from Utena, Kenshin, Cowboy Bebop, and Gundam Wing. Some yuri/yaoi. ~complete~
1. Happy Now

Happy Now  
by Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: A serious addict to femmy music—Catatonia, No Doubt—they've   
inspired my artsy side more than once. Here again, they've brought out my   
imagination, specifically No Doubt. Alternate reality resulting in a bit of   
tempered OOC-ness, tips on sappiness, and somewhat a blending on anime   
series—Utena, Kenshin and Cowboy Bebop believe it or not—enjoy. Music,   
characters—not mine.)  
  
Prologue  
  
Remind me again why you're knocking at my door. Hung over with a thin layer   
of perspiration tickling your upper lip. But I don't have the strength to leave the   
door closed and instead lift the latch, stepping aside to give you full access.   
Come inside, how do you do? No answer, that's nice.  
  
It's been four years since you lived here. And even though I saw you last   
Saturday downtown, and just about every night in the evening rehersal, we   
haven't talked since then. Now I pay the rent on my own, the toilet lid stays   
down, and the smell of your aftershave only lingers in my cruel memories.   
Without an explanation, you walked into the kitchen and helped yourself to the   
glass and water. Swallowing noisily.  
  
You had the best  
But you gave her up  
'Cause dependency might interrupt  
  
"I heard that Spike moved back in with you again." Carpooling. It had seemed   
like a good idea when Sano suggested it. But Juri leaned closer to the window   
and stared out at the slower cars that Sano was passing with reckless abandon.   
The tall kid was chewing on a piece of beef jerky that he'd been worrying for the   
better part of the commute—superstition kept it there every morning, and Juri   
had noticed that it was a very effective pacifier for the twenty year-old. "Post   
Script" was the kid's first play and rumor had it that he was reciting his lines in   
his sleep, at the grocery store, in the car.   
  
She peered at him out of the corner of her eye. Juri'd only known him for the   
three months that they'd been working on the production so far. He was tall and   
gangly thin with brown hair that was so unruly it stuck out in every direction no   
matter how long Sano tried to tame it. Sano's sister had been with the theater   
longer, and it was Faye who had secured his audition with Hajime Saitou. Saitou   
was a tough ass when it came to casting, so the kid had more than a little talent   
although the director hardly let Sano rest—constantly undermining his best   
efforts, pushing for the perfect pitch, emotion, look.   
  
Sanosuke Sagara had an apartment in Juri's building, so when he had suggested   
driving to the theater together—she'd had little reason to refuse. For the most   
part, he was an agreeable companion and she even liked the rambunctious kid.   
  
Today, however, he was talking just a bit too much.  
  
"Trust those selfish leading actors not to make up their own minds." Sano   
worked his words around the jerky. He laughed deep in his throat. "But then   
again, isn't that exactly where I'm headed?"  
  
"How are things going with Saitou?" Juri interrupted forcefully, not liking the   
kid's good-natured if misdirected teasing.  
  
Sano visibly flinched, but never took his eyes off the road. "Giving me crap   
every day, like usual." His voice thickened and lowered as he mimicked the   
director, "No, no. This character is not happy here. Stop sounding like a paper   
doll from a Dairy Queen commercial. You can act, can't you? Or do I have to   
make you very unhappy before you'll portray it?"  
  
Juri mimicked a chuckle, although her body ached and certainly didn't feel like   
laughing. Saitou certainly wasn't taking it easy on the boy, but he'd be better for   
it in the long run. It had been a long night, and it was going to be an even longer   
day.  
  
Idealistic will so hard to please  
Put your indecisive mind at ease  
  
Sano tossed the half chewed jerky into the trash before following Juri into the   
theater. Saitou made a new rule that anyone with the last name Sagara was not   
allowed to have food in the theater. He couldn't figure out what he did that   
annoyed the director so much, but complying, he replaced the food product with   
a toothpick that was in a handy container on the front desk. He wasn't sure why   
they were there, but he'd test his limits to calm his nerves. "Post Script" was his   
first big production, nevermind his college work.   
  
Underneath his brash exterior he was scared to death.  
  
Juri had darted into the ladies room, so Sano went into the auditorium to see if   
he could find his sister. Faye worked different hours since she was only an   
assistant for the stage designer. He spotted her sitting in one of the front rows, or   
slumped over into one of the seats rather. Her shapely legs bared over the   
armrest which he noticed as he got closer.   
  
Faye was only a handful of years older than him but she looked like she was   
born to a completely different family. They had asked their parents about it once   
and were young enough to be surprised when they got no satisfying answer.  
  
"Rooster head, be a dear and get me caffeine."  
  
"How long have you been here?"  
  
"Long enough to listen to Spike and Saitou get into another row."  
  
"So I'm not the only one that he gets pissed at?" Sano guffawed, but the tension   
between his shoulders started to relax.  
  
"It's different. Apparently Spike and Julia called it quits and it's causing friction   
and all because she's the biggest backer of this show. Money makes the world go   
'round." Faye let one slim arm drape over the face and sighed dramatically.   
  
She'd always wanted to act, but melodrama only got her as far as building the   
set. "Caffeine makes things work better too." She added suggestively.  
  
Not biting, Sano chewed the toothpick more furiously, "They called it quits?"  
  
"Don't get any ideas, rooster head." Faye warned, "Julia wouldn't look at you   
twice even if she were single."  
  
"Hey," Sano was hurt, "If she likes the scrawny, curly head pigeon boy—why   
wouldn't she like a rooster? Nevermind. I'm going to be late for first call, I   
smelled coffee coming from the kitchenette. Happy hunting."  
  
"Dummy." Faye didn't twitch a muscle as Sano left. It had been a long morning,   
and tensions were already high.  
  
You broke the set  
Now there's only singles  
  
"We've read through this, people. Have we forgotten everything already?"   
Saitou snapped, dropping his copy of the script and approaching the stage where   
Sano froze with an expression not unlike a rooster in headlights. Also on stage,   
Juri was standing near Spike who didn't look much better than he had the night   
he'd come to her apartment. His eyes were darkly lined, not by stage make-up   
either.   
  
The scene had been sloppy, and for once, Sano was the least to blame.   
  
Ruka Tsuchiya stepped out from where he was waiting behind curtain for his   
cue—which hadn't come because between them Juri and Spike had skipped his   
entrance lines. He watched everything with quiet attentiveness, quite unlike his   
character which was flamboyant and outspoken. The closest thing he had in   
common with his character was the desperate love they had for Juri Arisugawa.   
Desperate and unrequited. He wondered if that was why Saitou cast him for the   
part of the silent lover—but how could Saitou know? Cruel and honest, even   
though neither the character or the man so much as verbalized his affections.  
  
He wrapped his long arms around himself and watched as Saitou reprimanded   
Spike for neglecting not only his lines but a serious of meticulous movements   
across the stage. For good measure, Saitou criticized Sano's posture and stormed   
back to his seat in the third row where he shouted some more directions and   
finally,   
  
"Again!"  
  
Half listening for his cue, Ruka took a moment to watch the quiet playwright,   
Kenshin Himura, who sat just behind Saitou and a little to the left. Periodically,   
the writer's wife, Kaoru, would be with him, but since the show only had two   
weeks left before opening—she'd kept the kids and herself at home. Kenshin   
kept his opinions to himself, although it was obvious that he liked most of what   
was being done with his work. Undeniably, Spike Spiegel and Sanosuke Sagara   
were ideally cast as the leading man and his younger, idealistic brother.   
  
But Juri's role had been undeniably written for another actress, even though she   
played the part to a perfection . . . the dialogue was clearly styled for Julia. Only   
Julia had refused the part a month into production and decided to sit out. Juri   
had stepped up for the part, and to smooth things over with her contract, Julia   
began to financially support the play.  
  
Undercurrents of bitterness remained, while the crew was incredibly grateful for   
Juri's efforts. Julia's power overshadowed them all.  
  
Dismissing reality, he sauntered in character onto the stage and grabbing Sano   
by the shoulders spun him around and planted an exaggerated kiss on the kid's   
mouth. Twisting, leaning back into Juri's "startled" face he stage whispered the   
comedic-intended line, "That's exactly what I wish I could do to you, baby."  
  
And the scene continued, as if no deep secrets had been revealed at all.  
  
There's no looking back  
This time I mean it  
  
"Good rehersal today, kids." Utena picked up a forgotten basket of flowers, a   
bottle of wine, and two glasses—all props and darted back stage to put them in   
their proper places. As stage manager she missed nothing, and she smiled   
reassuringly to Sano who had destroyed a half-dozen toothpicks during the   
rehersal and had moved on to biting his pencil. He was sitting on the edge of the   
stage reviewing some of his lines with Ruka and Kenshin. Kenshin had pulled   
back his mop of red hair and his dark rimmed glasses were sliding down the   
edge of his nose as he pointed out the emphasized words in the written   
conversation.  
  
"He's 'pleased' because his brother's married, not that it's to Juri's character, of   
course. So if you layer that one word the rest of the line about trolley cars will   
make more sense and . . ."   
  
"And . . ." Kenshin was interrupted by Ruka's quiet enthusiasm. "When I come   
in and offer you the ticket I meant for Juri, it means so much more. Brilliant."  
  
Utena grinned to herself, absorbing their moment of discovery then   
maneuvering through the crowded hall and rolling her eyes at the other   
abandoned and misplaced equipment. She was going to have to have a word   
with Faye, who had volunteered to be her "assistant." She dropped the glasses,   
bottle and basket into their places in the prop room and hovered a moment,   
wondering if she should say something to Juri who was meticulously organizing   
her things.  
  
"Um," Utena began, "I really appreciate how much care you take in arranging   
your stuff. It saves me so much work."  
  
"Hmm." Juri didn't look up, but unfolded the multi-colored sweater she carried   
around in most of Act Two and part of the final act, folding and deliberately   
refolded it. Adjusting the corners, smoothing down the sides. Delaying.  
  
"Spike's in the foyer. He asked if I'd seen you. Of course," Utena spoke more   
quickly with each phrase, loathing her obligation to relay messages given the   
obvious circumstances. "I said I hadn't seen you but that if I did, I'd tell you that   
I saw him and that . . ."  
  
"I know." Juri interrupted, in order to save the kind girl her discomfort. "I know,   
I know. It's just, I suddenly don't want to leave this sweater. Funny, isn't it? How   
different it looks here than it does on stage under all of those lights."  
  
"You're strong, Juri." Utena stated, "I admire how you worry, just remember that   
you're strong and that you've resolved your obligations in the past." She   
hesitated a moment longer before offering her opinion, "Do what makes you   
happy. Forget acting. That's only when you're on stage.  
  
"Besides, you're safe," Utena added, "Don't you ~usually~ ride home with the lil'   
rooster head anyway?"  
  
Are you happy now?  
How is it now?  
Are you happy now?  
Are you happy?  
The uncertainty you had of me  
Brought clouded shady company  
The tenderness habitual  
A seldom fading ritual  
  
So differently they moved around each other, sharing long looks but never truly   
connecting. Four years different. The furniture had changed, the dishes had   
another pattern, and the large painting of Van Gogh that he had taken with him   
had been replaced with a large, orange pencil drawing that she'd made in a   
random art studio class she'd taken one lonely autumn. The gloomy weather had   
depressed her and the show they were doing hadn't been a happy one either.   
  
Something about a large piece of blank paper and a very small orange utensil   
had made her world a little more satisfying.  
  
"Good," Spike mumbled sadly, forking another bite of the homemade pot pie   
into his mouth. She would admit that she liked feeding him if anyone asked. She   
liked caring for him. She wanted to make everything better, but instead of   
laughing and sweeping her around the living room into a carefree, off-beat waltz   
like in her long gone memories . . . he sat on the couch and trembled. Not even   
the large sweaters could keep him warm. So she fixed him pot pie and did   
everything except offer her conversation or her body to comfort him.   
  
"Good." She answered, suddenly, again, feeling like a stranger in her own   
apartment. He ate rapidly, then sat with the plate in his lap, one hand curled   
under the dish the other resting just over it with the fork still hovering   
wondering where the nourishment had gone.  
  
"This isn't working, is it?" He finally looked up at her, where she hovered not   
unlike the fork, between the living room and the hallway where she could retreat   
for the evening. "I'm moping . . . and this isn't working."  
  
"No." Juri replied, astonished by how incredibly attracted she was to him.   
Unexpected, unwanted, but attracted. She looked at him sadly, but she had no   
tears to give him. He'd hollowed her out like he were using a spoon—all those   
years ago when he'd taken Van Gogh.  
  
You killed the pair   
Now only one is breathing  
There's no looking back  
This time I mean it  
  
"Once more, with feeling." Sano belted out, romping around the mostly   
abandoned stage with the exuberance of a twelve year-old. He caught Juri up in   
his arms and spun her around with his reckless energy. She couldn't help but   
smile a little even though rehersal had been exhausting.  
  
"Whenever you're finished, Sagara." Saitou said with a slightly louder   
monotone.   
  
"Why, yes, sir." Sano grinned broadly and took his position with exaggerated   
stiffness in his limbs, like he were a mannequin waiting to be turned on.  
  
"You're not in this scene anymore." Saitou added.  
  
"We moved on?" Sano stood straight, puzzled.  
  
"If you'd only listen, rehersal would be finished sooner." Saitou leaned forward   
with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, which everyone else recognized as   
affectionate disapproval. As Sano jumped off the platform and bounded into one   
of the nearest open seats to watch, Saitou continued his instructions. "Juri is   
waiting for Spike to come back from the meeting with his employer, Anthy—  
who is absent again this evening due to her doctor's orders . . ." Saitou added the   
last part ruefully. "Now, Juri, you're brimming with suspicions and doubt and   
are tempted by the arrival of Ruka. The key for the character is to repress those   
feelings even though he's obviously attracted to you as well."  
  
"And that's demonstrated when I offer him the sweater." Juri commented. "But   
he's already accepted Sano's invitation to leave the city and doesn't stay long   
enough for me to put the idea into words."  
  
Saitou urged them to start by waving his gloved hands, his own personal   
superstition with the opening night so close, choosing not to overly direct   
anymore but to trust his actors with how they had grown into their characters.   
Grown into their characters so much that they might forget when the play ended   
and their real lives began.  
  
Juri went through the motions, feeling her spirit blend into the personality of the   
girl written on paper. Feeling the girl wrap her arms around the strings that   
moved her arms, moved her lips, lifted her chin, lowered her eyes. And there he   
was, so close. So much an option.   
  
Ruka impatient, gathering his things, getting ready to leave, chattering eagerly   
about the limitless potential outside of the city. Not noticing that every breath   
she took was consumed with his presence. Wanting so desperately to ask him if   
he cared for her, needing his support. Finding that she'd supported herself, so   
alone, no matter the promises that had been given to her before.  
  
"Will that be all?" Ruka's last line punctuated with a cheerful emphasis. Exit   
stage left, his last line in the play.  
  
For that one moment, he lifted his smile and for the first time he meet her eyes.   
  
The girl took a deep breath, stunned. For the first time recognizing the naked   
desire, but not only that. For the first time recognizing that she hadn't been   
alone. She had been noticed. She had been cared for. Whether it was Sano's loud   
distractions, Utena's straightforwardness, or Saitou's firm leadership. No one had   
left her alone to bear Spike's unexpected neediness.  
  
And Ruka. Why hadn't she noticed? Where the acting ended and the man began?   
Four years and she finally realized that he, along with the others, they could be   
her friends.  
  
No more leaning on your shoulder  
I won't be there, no more bother  
If you feel you just might want me  
That's too bad, I'm not that easy  
  
The change was instantaneous. After rehearsal, instead of hiding in the prop   
room until Spike left and Sano finally tracked her down, Juri grabbed Ruka's   
arm and pulling him off stage toward the others, she insisted,   
  
"Let's all go out tonight, together."   
  
No one protested, everyone was surprised. And everyone said yes.  
  
Even Saitou.  
  
"I'm coming too. Lil' bro, gonna give me a lift?" Faye nudged Sano with her   
shoulder causing him to wobble unexpectedly a moment.   
  
"What are you still doing here?" he responded in kind, giving her a friendly   
shove that tipped her from balancing on one leg to the other. Even though her   
work was long over, Faye often lingered in the back of the auditorium   
mimicking the actors and imagining she could have delivered the performance   
better herself.   
  
"What's wrong with your car, oh, heck, why not?" Faye leaned back in and had a   
fist ready to slug him, which he caught in his bigger hand and then pulled her in   
for a head-lock.  
  
"Hey!" Faye protested, stomping on his shoe with her smaller one and   
threatening to chew on his arm. The obvious affection made even the more   
unamused individuals smile. Ruka paid them the least attention, a bit unsettled   
himself by the fact that Juri was still leaning on his arm with both of her hands,   
almost protectively. He lifted his eyebrows and pursed his lips in surprise, but   
eased them into a confused smile when she looked up at him.   
  
Spike who was digging his toe into the theater's ancient carpeting, looked   
everywhere but at Juri. While he'd given his consent earlier, he was noticeably   
drawing back from the festivities and falling back between his emotional walls.  
  
Juri swallowed heavily, beginning to worry for him, again. But just as she began   
to regret the suggestion, she felt Ruka pull forward.  
  
"Hey, old man. You are coming with us, right?" Ruka let Juri's fingers slide off   
his arm as he used it to reach out to Spike with the invitation.  
  
The contemplator all those years  
Now you must adhere  
To your new career of liberation  
You've been cast all by yourself  
You're free at last  
  
"Can I come too?" The new voice hadn't been heard in a while, but was very   
familiar to everyone there.   
  
Sano quit mussing Faye's hair and immediately let his sister go, clearing his   
throat and saying, quite unnecessarily,   
  
"Julia . . ."  
  
She was oppressively beautiful and while her clothing and colors were all warm   
and comforting, her presence brought a little chill through those present.   
Without a hint of arrogance but brimming with aristocracy, she glanced over   
them all—nodding now and again to those she new intimately from other   
shows—and then rested her eyes on Spike.   
  
His carefree personality completely snuffed, Spike hadn't noticed her attention   
since he was still staring at his feet.  
  
"Watcha doing here?" Sano asked boyishly charming with his over-eager smile.   
He was the only one who could get away with asking, and Juri would almost   
swear that he knew it and was taking it to his full advantage, while rescuing   
everyone else from their curiosity.  
  
The woman pulled her eyes away from the insecure leading actor, and gave   
Sano a sad smile, "I've been gone too long. I'm forgetting, if I haven't already   
forgotten, the . . . love . . . I had for the theater."  
  
"Missed me, eh?" The boy continued on, rather stupidly, but they all loved him   
for it. Even Saitou stopped examining the preliminary, printed programs for the   
audience and glanced up to observe her answer.  
  
"Sano, silly boy," Julia had such a delicate tiny mouth, "We worked together for   
such a brief time."  
  
"I make those lasting impressions." At that comment, Faye resumed her attack   
and whacked him on the shoulder with her left hook. Sano protested with an   
indignant, "Hey!" And whirled around to keep up his part of the scuffle.  
  
You broke the set  
Now there's only singles  
There's no looking back  
This time I mean it  
  
The transportation shuffling manipulated Faye into Sano's car (turned out that   
she'd locked her keys in her own car and didn't want to take the trouble of   
finding some way to break in to get them). Utena's car was more spacious, so   
Saitou and Julia went with her—taking the opportunity to discuss some of the   
more business slanted issues that were soon coming. By default, and with no   
complaints, Juri accepted Ruka's polite invitation for a lift.  
  
Once again, Ruka demonstrated deep generosity moving to converse with Spike   
while motioning Juri on ahead.  
  
"Some strange things happening tonight," Ruka commented, tilting his head and   
taking a good look at the unhappy man. Even though they'd worked together for   
a few years, he didn't know Spike terribly well, just enough to know that he was   
an intense performer, distant even while being familiar, and consequentially   
deserved all of the positive criticism surrounding his plays. "Post Script" was no   
different. Early reports were quick to flatter the city favorite.   
  
"Don't expect that things are going to get any less weird the later this night gets."  
  
"She knows." Spike lit a cigarette even though it was against house rules. No   
one else was there to object. He took a long drag and lifted his head to study the   
ceiling. Ruka waited. Before, Spike hadn't shared any information about Julia.   
  
All that anyone knew, even Juri, was that they'd been terribly happy and then   
they'd suddenly been terribly separate.  
  
"I'm not the right person for her anymore." The older man leaned in a manner   
which was awkwardly comfortable looking with one hand deep into his pocket.   
A recognizable habit, Spike was most at ease, most himself, when he stood in   
such a way. "And I shouldn't get in the way if she's ready for something new."  
  
Ruka's heart paused and his palms started to get a little sweaty. He suspected   
that Spike wasn't talking about Julia at all.   
  
He kept very quiet, unfamiliar with Spike's sudden confidence.  
  
"Oh bother it. Seeing Julia tonight," Spike took another long haul on the   
cigarette, and laughed it out, "I'm still wrapped up in her so tightly that I couldn't   
squeeze in another affection if I wanted to. That's why my bloody love scenes on   
stage are like crap. Kissing Juri's like . . . well, it's like if I would pull on the   
wrong end of this cig. It's so hot and painful my eyes leak." He laughed again.   
"We used to have fun, back in the day. We used to go out without someone   
having to make a scene or special occasion to loosen our inhibitions after   
rehearsal.  
  
"I just wanted to catch some of that old sparkle in her eyes. But all I do is eat her   
food and make her uncomfortable."   
  
Spike laughed again, this time sounding like he actually was enjoying it and not   
just choking on his own smoke. "You make her uncomfortable, too, you know.   
Only, it's your time to make it something magical."  
  
"What about you?" Ruka said, uncomfortable with all the attention focused on   
himself, preferring to stand just behind the curtain and watch.  
  
"Don't bother yourself with me. Just give me a ride to the place, you know. I'll   
be my old brooding self, but when haven't I been?" Spike crossed his eyes,   
staring at the cigarette as if he were wondering where the thing went and how   
it'd burned so low, so close to his fingers. "One thing you can do, buckeroo . . .   
give Juri something to be happy about. At least then her side of the performance   
will have feeling.  
  
"Do things right, you've given her the strength to do things by herself." Spike   
shook his head, "And then all you can do is wait and see if she'll let you go with   
her."  
  
"And then?" Ruka breathed, puzzled but kind.  
  
"And then, say yes."  
  
You're by yourself  
All by yourself  
You have no one else  
You're by yourself. 


	2. Never Too Close

Never Too Close  
by Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Ever write an alternate reality fanfic on whim--and then like it so   
much that it didn't matter if anyone else ever read it--you simply had to visit it   
again? Give those characters in that world another chance to do something,   
anything, again? This is something like that. An indulgence for myself.   
Companion fic to Happy Now--this story continues the lives of those anime   
characters from Utena, Cowboy Bebop and Kenshin that happen to work at the   
Road Rage Independent Theater. Sort of a song fic, those lyrics you find belong   
to Catatonia--want to be inspired? Listen to that band, there's just something   
about them. I own nothing, except the computer I'm typing on, maybe.)  
  
Chapter One  
  
The way the room was arranged, the cast sat around a long table, with various   
character quirk defining items scattered in front of them. One or two had their   
noses faithfully pointed into the spine of the scripts, testimonies that their at-  
home priorities had yet to give them the space to peruse the text. Others were   
conversing quietly about the technical challenges that this particular program   
was going to surface.   
  
Listening intently to the latter, Mikage Souji leaned against the far wall, not   
joining the others, the familiar, at the table. His arms were crossed over his   
body, fingers curled around the opposite elbow. Even in the neon bright room,   
he wore his darkened glasses. Without noticably moving, he observed the actors   
at their most natural.   
  
Sanosuke Sagara, who was taking co-star billing in his second main-street   
production, sat farthest from the door, obviously stationing himself at the   
greatest distance from the yet-to-arrive director of the Road Rage Independent   
Theater. The boy was hardly twenty, but had enough charisma to wear out most   
of his peers. "Kennie wrote this?" The boy's voice was deep and impressively   
attention gathering, "I'm impressed. I thought Post Script last season was cutting   
edge . . ."  
  
"At least this time he added some more female roles," Sano's sister, Faye, took a   
long drag on her cigarette and released it above the table with some relish. She'd   
lurked at the theater for a few years before Sano managed to weasel his way into   
his first audition and consequently his first significant role. Fueled with sibling   
rivalry, Faye had actually summed up her nerve to audition for the spring piece   
and Saitou had cast her as one of the meddlesome extras the complicated show   
demanded.  
  
Mikage let his gaze wander beyond the sibling's renewed bantering and noticed   
with some surprise that Ruka was being openly affectionate with his significant   
other, letting his pale, slim fingers rest over Juri's hand. Juri's other hand was   
letting her nurse a hearty cup of coffee. They both tended to be conservative   
about demonstrating their feelings toward each other while with the cast. Ruka   
leaned over and murmured something in Juri's ear, his breath just tickling the   
strawberry orange curls and rustling them slightly. As a result, Juri lifted her   
hand out from under Ruka's and instead placed her fingers around the same hand   
in a reassuring squeeze.   
  
The observer was not the only one to see the lover's communication as he   
noticed the other fledgling actress's attention being absorbed by first one of the   
handsome pair and then to the other. Mikage blinked, gathering that young   
Shiori's passionate entrance into the theater would only serve to tangle the webs   
of emotion even further. She tucked both sides of her hair behind her ears, where   
they immediately fell free again. Lowering her eyes she glanced around the   
room, not seeing the silent watcher, and letting her gaze again consider Juri and   
then Ruka.  
  
Next to Shiori, and across from Juri sat Spike Spiegel, the veteran actor at the   
theater. His feet were propped onto the table and his cigarette hovered just on   
his lips as he silently lipped the lines of the script he was reading. Taking one   
gangly, limp hand--he turned the page and continued his non-verbal journey   
through the play.  
  
The door opened then and the slim, tomboyish stage manager leaned in, just so   
she could get an initial count of the required performers presences. "Look sharp,   
troops." She grinned easily and tipped her head,   
"Sir Saitou is on his way and he's determined to have the better part of the first   
act blocked and memorized by noon."  
  
"Heck, Utena-chan, why'd you have to tell us that?" Spike mumbled grouchily,   
never taking his eyes away from the page and almost but not quite losing his   
momentum of reading to himself the next line across the page.  
  
"And Mr. Himura is going to be coming in this afternoon to look at the sets, sir."   
Utena turned and looked at Mikage, who had until that moment, managed to   
remain anonymous for the earlier portion of the morning. "I trust that Saitou   
debriefed you on how seriously to take Kenshin's orders . . ."  
  
He nodded to acknowledge that he understood. Sano stared at the man as if he   
had suddenly materialized into the room with them, and the others finally   
recognized his presence with small smiles and tiny tips of their heads. Mikage's   
face never changed expression.  
  
If all you've got to do today is find peace of mind  
Come round  
You can take a piece of mine  
If all you've got to do today is hesitate  
Come here, you can leave it late with me  
  
"I've heard he's a bit dysfunctional."   
  
"Shut up, Sano--get sensitive or something." Faye walloped her much taller   
brother with the script she'd been studying--eagerly hunting for a line, any of her   
lines--and there weren't many.  
  
"I am sensitive," Sano rubbed his head and closing one eye to express his   
distress at her accusation. "He's probably not interested in anyone, really, the   
way he handles those gizmos and everything technicological. Must take all   
dimensions of a guy's facilities to concentrate on such tasks."  
  
Faye rolled her eyes, not sure if she were hearing him correctly anymore. But his   
cheesy, constant grin was contagious, and they spontaneously broke into a race   
to see who could get to the auditorium first.  
  
Behind them, Ruka coughed lightly into his fist. Juri glanced up at him, but the   
lanky fellow tossed his carefree hair from his face and smiled easily enough.   
  
"So, do you have any advice on how to handle Saitou?" The petite brunette   
weaseled her way to Juri's other side and leaned in. "It's a little uncomfortable   
still, being so new to the theater . . ."  
  
"Be on time, know your lines and let Sano take the full brunt of the fury." Ruka   
grinned at Shiori. "Saitou won't even notice you then . . . unless it's for   
something good. He's actually quite gifted at recognizing quality performances   
as well."  
  
"That's good to know--look forward to. Thanks." Shiori slipped into step with   
them, just behind Juri's peripheral vision. Moving not unlike a shadow. Juri felt   
the back of her neck warm, suspecting the girl's queer eyes moving up and down   
the length of her arm as it swung naturally with her walk. Knowing she was   
watched. Juri glanced up at Ruka from the corner of her eye--his face directed   
straight ahead.  
  
Walking into the auditorium, they first took in the sight of the fabulous dark   
setting from some gothic past. Just in front of it, Sano was sitting on the stage   
with his knees over Faye, locking her against the wooden floorboards. The   
technical set advisor, Mikage Souji, was to one side conversing with the easily   
recognizable playwright, Kenshin Himura. The slight man had a pony tail full of   
bright red hair tied back in an artistically conservative black ribbon. Kenshin   
was agreeable enough and a great father for an undeterminable number of small   
children. When their mother brought them in to the set it seemed like an entire   
kindergarten class . . .  
  
"Gotta talk to Spike-o." Ruka beamed an apologetic look on both Juri and Shiori   
and turned to the aisle on the left while the girls continued to approach the   
center of the stage. He only glanced back once with a slightly more concerned   
furrow to his brow. Something about Shiori set him on edge. He'd seen part of   
her audition at Saitou's bequest when the director was narrowing down the field   
of potential actresses for a pivotal role. After casting Sano, a relatively fresh pup   
into a lead role in the last play--Saitou was hesitant to consider another spring   
chicken from the colleges.  
  
And Ruka had felt a base distress when he had heard her read the lines. An   
intuition of indistinguishable worries, but her talent at ad libbing was   
impeccably necessary for an independent theater. Against his better judgment,   
the diversity of characters Shiori could fabricate believably was an asset not to   
be overlooked.  
  
You could be taking it easy on yourself  
You should be making it easy on yourself  
  
"Spike, my man, what's changed? You're yourself today!" Sano gave the thinner   
man a substantial pounding in between his shoulder blades.  
  
"Get you paws off me, rooster head." Spike growled goodnaturedly. "I need a   
cigarette."   
  
"Not in here you don't." Sano pointed into the distance where they all knew the   
"no smoking" signs were lurking.  
  
Ruka felt his spirits lift a little to see Spike actually smirking for a change.   
Something was undeniably different today, and Ruka began to suspect . . .  
  
"Damn it." Spike pinched his nose and pretended to suffocate. After elaborately   
struggling against his own hand, the lean man crumpled to the floor and   
pretended to pass out.   
  
"Someone, quick!" Sano shouted, trying not to laugh. "Get a cigarette!"  
  
"SAGARA!"  
  
It was Ruka's turn to try not to laugh as the stern director crossed the stage.   
Saitou was clearly annoyed and stood a menacing distance from the boy--close   
enough to get his attention but far enough away to   
demonstrate his authority.  
  
"Don't make me rethink my casting." Saitou snarled, his eyes narrowing.   
Everyone knew that Saitou was fond of putting the rooster head in his place.   
Sano froze, obviously waiting to be told what to do in order to avoid ticking the   
director off any further. Sano was incredibly talented and qualified for the   
leading role, but he didn't want to risk catching Saitou in a genuinely angry   
mood.  
  
"All right, people. We're doing a read through Act One, Scene One. Spiegel and   
Sagara center stage."  
  
Ruka hesitated, then caught Spike's attention. "You wanted . . ." Ruka began.  
  
Spike nodded, to acknowledge that he understood and mouthed the word,   
"Later."  
  
Cos you and I know, it's all over the front page  
You give me road rage  
Racing through the best days  
  
"So tell me," Shiori leaned forward in her seat and let her cheek rest against her   
laced fingers, "Have you and Ruka been together long?"  
  
Juri flinched, just a little twitch, under her right eye--but she suddenly felt very   
vulnerable. "A while." She answered, refusing to glance over at the other   
woman. They were inbetween scenes, and since neither of them were needed   
again until the next act, Juri and Shiori were studying their dialogue in the back   
rows of the auditorium seating.  
  
"I knew a boy like him once." Shiori had a cat like quality to her voice, almost   
like she were trying to seduce the conversation out of her companion. "In fact, I   
seem to remember him exactly."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Juri's eyes continued to work their way across   
the text but no words were remembered.  
  
"His eyes, his fingers. No," Shiori's voice emphasized the next pause and Juri   
did not interrupt. "No, it's his hair, the way it always falls forward like the   
breeze is always at his back. I remember him. And his name, Ruka. Yes, I told   
myself, it is him. And then I wonder, does he remember me?"  
  
"You know each other?" Juri glanced over at the brown-haired girl, her eyes   
only opened into wary slits. Something about the way Shiori pawed at the arm   
rest between them made her nervous, but Juri fought off the uncertainty with her   
frustration. The other girl was leaning in so close she could smell--she could   
smell her, so fresh. Almost innocently clean.  
  
"Maybe," Shiori leaned back into her seat, pulling farther away from Juri in   
order to meet her eyes more comfortably. "Something about the audition, when I   
saw him the first time, I was reminded of a boy I went to school with years ago.   
Reminded me of how he was always interested in someone else and how much I   
wanted to take him away from *her*--but, that was then. And we can think such   
silly thoughts when we're young--don't we?" Shiori began to chew on the end of   
her pencil and blinked once, slowly.  
  
Juri tore her eyes from the girl's moving lips and sought out Ruka's familiar   
features on stage, taking some comfort that he hadn't disappeared. The thought   
embarrassed her a bit, so she turned back to Shiori and commented, "You're too   
young to have been in school with Ruka."  
  
"I might be young," Shiori stood slowly, looking down on Juri with an   
expression of unspoken feelings, "But I observe--and I'm sure, I'm sure--that I   
remember you."  
  
And it's you boy driving me crazy  
Thinking you may be losing your mind  
  
Neither of them noticed Mikage working in the shadows of the backwall.   
Somehow, even in the darker places, knowing where the wires were misplaced   
and hidden. He heard every word and filed it away, mostly uninterested in the   
conversation shared between the actresses. While people spoke freely in front of   
his non-threatening presence, Mikage heard many things.   
  
And he observed many things. Like the way Juri stared after Shiori long after   
the other had left. And the way the older woman had touched her throat just so,   
and hung her head. The script long forgotten.  
When all the wires are found and put in there proper places, the lights come on.   
And in the center of that whiteness, no secrets hide. No ad libbing confuses.   
  
Mikage continued his work.  
  
If all you've got to prove today is your innocence  
Calm down, you're as guilty as can be  
  
"It's Julia, isn't it?"   
  
The boys were in the costume shop experimenting with costumes, and as   
always, were displeased when Utena interrupted to give them their proper attire.   
Sano made the accusation as he pulled off his casual clothes. He glanced at   
Spike for a reaction, before scowling at the black turtle neck he was supposed to   
wear on stage.  
  
"What's that, rooster head, did you say something?" Spike grimaced at the white   
turtleneck he was supposed to wear. "Did you notice the *subtle* suggestion of   
our clothing here, Sano my boy? It's all backwards."  
  
"Yeah, white is definitely *my* color." Sano winked, then smoothed out the   
fabric of the shirt and sighing loudly. "And I suppose your favorite costume is   
nothing at all . . ." Sano dangerously let the teasing dangle in the air between   
them.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm not tell you anything. Hey, Ruka, when's nap time?"  
  
"I wish." Ruka wisely limited his involvement in the conversation, admiring   
how his black and white checkered suit made him look like a strangely folded   
chess board.   
  
"Nap time? You want to sneak off to find Julia so you can . . ."   
  
"Gentlemen, costume checks in five."  
  
"Geez, Utena, knock next time!" Sano shouted as the changing room door   
slammed shut quickly. His previous thoughts suddenly distracted by new ones   
involving a boiling romance with a certain stage manager.   
  
Ruka saw all of those emotions pass across Sano's undisguised expressions and   
smiled to himself, amused by how open and honest their rooster head could be.   
Ruka couldn't remember a day when his reserve hadn't tempered his speech,   
when his cunning hadn't plotted out his conversation. When his confidence   
hadn't controlled his feelings.  
  
But his brows pulled together with an uneasy pain. Undefinable pain.   
Unlocatable. He suddenly gripped the edge of the full length mirror to steady   
himself. The checkered suit began to swirl and blend together in his dimming   
vision.  
  
"Ruka?" The voices sounded so far away.  
  
"Ruka, man, are you okay?" Sanosuke.  
  
Taking shallow but quiet breaths, Ruka began to regain some feeling to his   
chilled limbs. The grip of his hand against the mirror's frame became noticably   
tight. His feet began to connect him to the ground again.  
  
"Lunch is right after costumes . . ." Sano hovered where he was, debating   
between concern and manliness. Spike sat where he was, contemplating   
everything with his monkey like arms dangling between his knees.  
  
"Just wanted a closer look." Ruka faked a chuckle, staring into his own reflected   
eyes, beginning to feel angry at his moment of weakness. "Lunch sounds good   
though." He stood straight and plastered a nonchalant smile across his features.   
  
"Sure." Sano said dismissively and pulled at the shoulders of his turtleneck.  
  
Ruka crossed the room in order to leave. Curiously, Spike never met his eyes,   
staring straight ahead.  
  
"Later." Ruka paused a fraction as he passed the so-far silent man.  
  
"Right." Spike replied, toneless.  
  
If all you've got to lose alludes to yesterday  
Yesterday's through  
Now do anything you please.  
  
Something. Something enchanted Juri. Ever since the moment of their   
conversation, Juri could almost remember. Could almost remember her days in   
high school, back when she'd done a little acting in the school productions. The   
same school where Ruka was president for the acting club. And the student   
council. They'd both been members of that elite group all four years.   
  
It had been a cordial friendship then. She would hardly have imagined that now,   
years later, a lifetime later, she would love that boy. She certainly hadn't thought   
of Ruka that way in their school days.  
What if someone else had?  
  
Would she have noticed? Had Ruka?  
  
Juri ran her fingers through her hair, studying their tips. Contemplating. Who   
would notice such an innocent girl? The common brown hair, the simple sincere   
eyes, the casually trim figure? Nothing unusual at all about the way she held her   
pencil. Nothing alluring about the shape of her lips, the color of her skin.   
Juri had always commanded attention. What would it feel like to be able to shift,   
become someone different each day? Someone so ordinary that no matter how   
often you saw her, met her, were introduced--you'd never remember--even if she   
did.  
  
It could be so . . . uncomplicated.  
  
Unsatisfiably curious, Juri actively searched for Ruka. Someone like Shiori.   
Would he know?  
  
Space age, road rage, fast lane, minimum wage  
Home late, upgrade, short-changed, golden age  
Front page, lose face, handmade, space ache  
Backstage, outrage, disgraced, maximum weight  
to be continued . . . 


	3. Strange Glue

Strange Glue  
by Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: You'd think my goal in life were to write a fanfic for every   
Catatonia song ever made . . . that's love. And I'm so close, not really. But this   
little song slipped through. I didn't know how to incorporate it really . . . and   
then I watched Utena. This is the second chapter for Never Too Close--a story in   
my alternate reality universe combining characters from Utena, Cowboy Bebop   
and Kenshin. Notice, neither the lyrics of the song or the characters are really   
mine . . . I'm just advertising, see, free advertising! Yeah, that's it.)  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Spike Spiegel prowled between the rows of auditorium seating, kicking aside   
used napkins and french fry carcasses as he passed. Watching the ground one   
moment, the stage the next. His work in this scene was over, but interesting   
things were taking place none-the-less.   
  
"What are you doing back here?" Spike straightened his hunched shoulders   
when he noticed the observer in the shadows.  
  
"Tech work. What are you doing?"  
  
"Looking for my jacket," Spike began to consciously chew on the toothpick.   
He'd found a box of them in the lobby and they were a poor substitute for a   
cigarette. "I put it back here somewhere. Have you seen it?"   
He waited for an answer, but the pale haired man was slow to give it--pointing   
farther to the right. Mikage Souji rarely spoke to anyone, let alone be helpful.   
Somehow, he managed to be one of the greatest set designers available to small   
independent theaters. Spike grinned lazily, and only a true artist could be so   
dysfunctional. Mikage Souji fit right in.  
  
Nodding briefly, Spike went on his way finally seeing the jacket where it had   
slipped between the the back and the seat cushions. Shouldering the article of   
clothing, he pulled the cigarette from his lips and let his eyes linger on the   
carefully lit, gothic stage. A slender, brown haired girl wearing a sleek grey   
gown was confessing her lines to the audience while other characters went about   
their business in the back ground.  
  
"I am the forgotten one. No one sees me. They think I am of no significance in   
their lives . . ."  
  
Spike shivered a little. Art could hit a little too close to home sometimes. But, he   
was past that point in his life. Rays of sunshine were coming back to him. Eager   
to be off, he tore himself from watching the performance and hurried through   
the foyer.   
  
Faye was lounging against the main desk, smoking rather openly. Obviously.  
  
"How come you get to smoke and I don't?" Spike growled, goodnaturedly.   
  
"I don't get caught." Faye said practically. "I see that you've raided my brother's   
stash of toothpicks?"  
  
"These are Sano's?" Spike waved the weary stick of wood and let his face distort   
in exaggerated amazement--lips pulled back, eyebrows high. "I thought the   
boss's favorite didn't have nasty habits?"  
  
"He doesn't smoke," Faye took a deep drag on her cigarette and visibly relaxed,   
letting her neck roll forward. "Has this chewing fetish I guess . . ."  
  
"Right." Spike tossed the toothpick into the nearest garbage and waved good-  
bye without saying anything further.   
  
Stepping from the smoky-colored glass front doors, Spike took in a deep breath   
of crisp late winter air. Stuffing his fists deep into his pockets he took exactly   
one step forward before stopping again.  
Ruka was leaning against the front of the brick building. His head pressed back   
against the firm wall, his eyes closed. Still he said, "Is it time yet?"  
  
"That's completely up to you." Spike turned slightly, but kept his distance.   
"We've both got our secrets."  
  
Ruke let his chin fall forward, his hair almost concealing his tired eyes.   
Somehow, he found the time to smile, half-way. "Funny, how you can't keep   
them forever."  
  
It was strange glue that held us together  
While we both came apart at the seams  
  
"You're cold." Juri said plainly. One hand, unceremoniously testing the side of   
Ruka's face.   
  
"I've also been standing outside for a good long while," Ruka protested, pulling   
his head away sharply and Juri's hand went back at the same time. Each instantly   
more reluctant to have ended the contact. It had been an exhausting rehearsal.   
Work tended to make them grow distant--falling into the shells of their   
characters and those endless possibilities.  
  
Consequently, that meant that Ruka holed up in his downtown flat while Juri   
resumed her carpooling with the younger Sagara.   
  
"I've got to get some shut-eye." Ruka offered tentatively.  
  
"Sano's waiting." Juri turned her face away, then followed through to walk   
away. She knew, she knew that she cared for Ruka. He'd waited for her so   
patiently, until she had finally noticed and accepted his favor. Still, she always   
felt as if she had to be careful with him. She was a bit terrified of the power she   
seemed to have over him. She could inspire such beautiful things from him--but   
sometimes she could see her actions turning him into something quite terrible.  
  
Then she remembered that there had been something she wanted to ask him. She   
remembered as soon as he was out of sight. As soon as Shiori waved her over.  
  
"The rooster head said that I could give you a ride home tonight." Shiori smiled   
easily enough, but Juri wondered at her sudden familiarity with Sano's   
nickname.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Juri gathered her things into her arms more comfortably.   
She felt startlingly uncomfortable so close to the younger girl. And the idea of   
the girl. And the memory of what she had said before.  
  
"Oh no," Shiori shrugged, "But I think he's taking Faye up on the offer to see   
which one of them can pick up a date faster tonight. My money's on Faye . . ."   
She added the last bit with a queer gleam in her eye.  
Juri was torn between analyzing that look and cheerfully contemplating the   
sibling rivalry. She chose the latter, "Sano really doesn't have a chance, unless   
Faye get's a little too deep in the alcohol. Then she's a real sour lady."  
  
"I'll have to see that sometime." Shiori laughed. Juri tried not to categorize each   
of the girl's actions, but the laugh seemed put on. Genuinely, well acted laughter.   
Juri wondered where the actress gave way to the genuine woman. And she   
wondered if she were just as much an actress in real life as well--and where did   
the real Juri begin?  
  
"So can I give you a ride?" Shiori's comment interrupted Juri's speculation.   
  
"Sure." Juri followed, "Thank you."  
  
She said your place or mine  
while we've still got the time  
so I played along with her schemes  
  
"Good job, guys!" Utena sped past them collecting the scattered articles that   
needed replaced in their proper homes. Juri nodded quickly, and had to wonder   
how quickly the days were going past.   
  
"What are you . . ."  
  
"I have to . . ."  
  
Then she and Ruka would go their separate ways. The schedule of the play was   
wearing into their relationship, so they kept a respectful distance off stage. She'd   
ride home with the rooster head and listen to him crow about one success or   
another. More often than not, Sano had some complaint about Saitou to keep his   
conversation on fire for the entire commute. Tensions were high, but Sanosuke   
was getting more comfortable in his role and everyone, including Sano himself,   
knew that Saitou was truly pleased with the young actor.  
  
"Juri, sweetie, do you mind so terribly finding a ride home tonight . . . ?" Sano   
smiled desperately, his eyes unusually big and puppy like. "I agreed to take Faye   
to The Crooked's concert at International Velvet tonight. And there is this   
waitress there who is rather attractive . . . "  
  
Which led to her searching for Shiori. The girl often blended into the scenery   
like a chameleon, better at it than their solitary technical stage designer at times.   
Juri made it a point to notice Shiori at all times.   
  
Something about the girl's innocent invisibility made Juri want to defy it--or   
treasure it.  
  
Juri found her, casually enough, studying the script.  
  
"I really understand this character." Shiori conversed, after agreeing to take Juri   
home first. "She's an interesting foil to Faye's stunning and flamboyant   
character."  
  
"It's rather didactic . . ." Juri said, monotone, mostly pretending not to be   
fascinated by the girl's young observations. Wondering what it had ever felt like   
to be a new actress, to discover everything for the first time.  
  
"Do you really think so?" Shiori shifted gears and as the car sat humming softly,   
she turned and studied   
  
Juri's stern profile as it rested on curled fingers. "You'd be pretty if you weren't   
so cold."  
  
Juri didn't know if her heart or her pride were more touched. "You'd be pretty if   
you weren't so cruel." She responded in turn. Without looking at Shiori, she   
softened the words, "Innocently cruel."  
  
"There isn't anything innocent about me, Juri." Shiori fingers touch Juri's near   
shoulder and she let them trace down the arm-chilly like an icy breath.  
  
Juri's attempt to calculate Shiori's intentions shut down at that point, and   
inwardly short of breath, Juri unlocked the door and stepped out. Neither spoke.  
  
But I don't have the right to be with you tonight  
so please leave me alone with no savior  
I will sleep safe and sound with nobody around me  
  
"Alright, people, gather around." Saitou raised his voice to get the attention of   
the entire cast which stood in various clusters scattered around the stage. "That   
means you, Sagara."  
  
The tall boy shook his carefree mop of brown hair, pointed at himself,   
protesting, "I'm paying attention, you can't pin this on me."  
  
Saitou ignored him. "Okay folks. Just wanted to let you know that things are   
coming together fairly well. We're farther along in something things than others,   
but generally better than I expected."  
  
"When do you ever expect much?" Spike murmured in a decidedly staged   
whisper. He was ignored as well.  
  
"The sets are practical and perfect, thanks to Master Mikage," There was a   
scattering of applause and a few people tried to spot the silent assistant, but he   
was allusive as usual. Saitou continued, "Our leading men have made rather   
incredible progress with their characters." Everyone ignored Sano's boisterous   
praise of himself. "And with an unprecedented ability, our ladies have reliably   
pulled through surpassing all expectations."  
  
Juri glanced over at Shiori who accepted the praise with her hands grasped   
eagerly in front of her breast. But her attention was quickly drawn away by Faye   
who was just as noisy as her brother with her self-glorification. Nearby, she   
appreciated Ruka who slowly shook his head, amused with it all. This speech   
wasn't unfamiliar to the established cast.  
  
"Now," Saitou's tone took a dangerously dark twist. "We have exactly three   
weeks to pull this together and it's a piece of crap. Granted, most audiences don't   
expect much from some rinky-dink indy theater--but we have a reputation to   
build and maintain. Don't let Post Script get to your heads. That show is over   
and done. Focus on the here and now. And don't let your individual   
performances ruin--spoil, rather--the accomplishment of the entire piece." Then   
as an after thought, Saitou added, "Anyhow, Mr. Himura thinks that Act Two   
scene four could use a lot of work transitionally." Those closest to Saitou heard   
the extra comment regarding where Himura could put his business. Hajime   
Saitou and Kenshin Himura were reluctant allies at best--mutually needing each   
other and begrudging that necessity to it's full extent.  
  
"So let's run through that scene next. Act Two, scene four. That's Ruka, Shiori,   
Faye and Sano. Big surprise, it's probably you that's upsetting Himura's   
transitions . . . let's go." Saitou crossed his arms and left the stage to watch from   
the front rows.  
  
Juri sat a few seats down from the mysterious Mikage. She nodded to him   
curtly, but the man simply watched the stage from behind his glasses. Juri had   
an unsatisfiable urge to ask Mikage what he thought. The man seemed such a   
tactical observer. Someone with whom she could compare notes.  
  
Something more than the play had come between her and Ruka recently. She   
wondered at first if it here natural deterioration--the gradual growing apart that   
happens when two people respect and value each other's privacy so much, too   
much. His fingers were always so cold and distant when he would touch her--  
making her adopt an unwelcoming stance that clearly hurt them both. She could   
sense him pulling away.   
  
Still, they would continue to pretend.  
  
Just then, Shiori crossed to the near corner of the stage, her head lowered. The   
dress shimmering like the midnight sky. And their eyes, like muted stars--met.  
  
When faced with my demons  
I clothe them and feed them  
And I smile, yes, I smile  
As they're taking me over  
  
Sanosuke, if he were feeling honest, might admit that evening wasn't his best   
rehearsal. Saitou was definitely pushing for the boy to step outside of his   
comfort zone when it came to emotional vulnerability--and the pushing wasn't   
making him want to express submissiveness at all.   
  
He took out the lingering frustration on one of the toothpicks from the foyer. He   
shook the box and puzzled over their dwindling numbers. Had he really chewed   
so many so fast? If only Saitou allowed him to have twizzlers or something . . .   
Waiting for Juri, he sat on top of the relatively cleared front desk, picked up one   
of the left over programs from Post Script, and reading his biography, wondered   
what details he should add and what he should insist that they change.  
  
In a flurry of movement, the small brunette actress, Shiori, burst through the   
doors to the main stage--pulling along a reluctant Juri.   
  
"You should come, girls' night out--lots of fun." Shiori loosened her grip letting   
her hands slide until she was only holding Juri's fingers. "It's not like you really   
have anything holding you back." She laced their fingers at which Sano let his   
eyes suddenly study the ceiling. They hadn't noticed him.  
  
But the playful moment was over and seemingly unrevealed as the rest of the   
cast plowed through the foyer in their crazy hurry to go home for the day. It had   
been a long evening. Faye alone saw him sitting in the grey sidelines, and she   
effectively snubbed him with a raised nose in the fashion only true sibling love   
can generate. Spike and Ruka walked together with equally paced steps of   
unspoken communication. The former had a lazy grin on his face which made   
Sanosuke suspect that something sweet had to be waiting for the lanky man that   
evening. Perhaps he'd taken up a cake decorating class . . . Sano snorted at his   
own joke.  
Coats were slipped into, Shiori gave Juri a last questioning look before stepping   
aside to converse with Spike and Ruka. Ruke ran his fingers through his hair,   
but it fell forward again, hiding all but his careful smile.   
  
"I'm out of here." Spike shrugged them off, and slipped out letting a swirl of   
crisp air tease everyone's noses.  
  
Juri, interestingly enough, never turned to see Sano sitting there. He wondered   
why, what else did she not want to see. She would be waiting at the car.  
  
Moving to go at last, Sano was distracted by pretty Utena who whirled up to   
Shiori with kind scolding about the state of the props room. "Never, never prop   
the door open after hours!" And, "Come! Come, let me show you where we put   
the key for emergencies during performance night."  
  
Sano walked over to the front door, opening it just enough that his lips curled   
tight around the toothpick, reacting to the cold night. He turned back on last   
time, letting the still inside air warm him one last time. Still standing in the   
middle of the room, looking a bit lost, stood the quiet actor. Sano took the wood   
splinter from his mouth, "G'night, Ruka."   
  
"Good night." Ruka answered, blinking awake from a dream that might have   
fused his spirit to that one moment. The rooster head narrow his eyes with   
bewildered amusement then close the door behind him.  
  
And if I cannot sleep  
For the secrets I keep  
It's the price I'm willing to meet  
Oh the end of the night  
Never comes too quickly for me  
  
"Come! Come, let me show you where we put the key for emergencies during   
performance night."  
It had been something like that. So suddenly remembered, and almost as quickly   
gone. But the effect was powerful.   
  
He remembered. Remembered almost everything. About the girl. About the girl   
who had come to drama club just one night. One night to help with the   
costumes--or something meaningless and trivial.   
  
The girl who had kept Juri's picture in her locket.  
  
to be continued . . .   
  
I should have stopped writing this a long time ago--I'm having fun, still if you   
sensed any continuity errors--or if you think the plot should maybe, perhaps,   
consider actually going somewhere . . . let me know. Yeah, homage to Alithea. 


	4. Drink Your Glasses Empty

Drink Your Glasses Empty   
by Jillian Storm   
  
(Disclaimer: This is the third part of Never Too Close and partly a tangent. It fits in   
continuity wise, but sort of travels down different avenues with different characters for a   
bit. You'll notice first of all that this is alternate reality. Read a little further, and it's   
clearly a cross over of characters from Utena, Kenshin and Cowboy Bebop. The lyrics are   
classic Catatonia--big surprise, huh?)   
  
"Designated driver my foot." Faye slumped across the countertop and wished herself   
away to some tropical island where the sun might still be shining and the waiters were all   
well-built natives in thongs. "How intoxicated can the rooster head get on Starbucks?"   
  
She set her chin against the counter top and made pathetic faces at herself in the   
window, trying to decide which one might convince her younger brother to leave for   
better prospects. Running her fingers through her hair, trying to loosen all of the tension   
building in her skull, Faye swiveled on her seat trying to spot Sanosuke.   
  
Predictably enough, he was at the counter, leaning on it and half-way across it to invade   
the personal space of a pretty employee. Sano had "I'm exaggerating a whole lot so   
you'll think I'm the best thing since sliced bread" written all over his face. His smile was   
roguish, his hair was tousled and his posture was cocky. Faye would admit it, she   
recognized the pose so certainly because it was something that the siblings had in   
common. The only difference was that Faye felt her potential was wasting away.   
  
Taking her time, Faye deliberately made her way over to the counter in time to hear   
Sano comment, "I don't take just any girl out . . . I'm really looking for a bit of brains   
behind a pretty smile."   
  
"Smooth, real smooth there, Sano." Faye smiled fiendishly and glomped onto Sano's arm,   
resting her head on his shoulder. "I thought you said you'd be back soon." Faye purred   
and laughed on the inside as the girl behind the counter began to look doubtful.   
  
"Yeek! Faye!" Sano jumped at her unexpected touch and tried to force her off his arm by   
using his other hand to push her face away. "Wakaba, come back. This wench is just my   
sister!"   
  
"Oops," Faye put on an innocent look, touching one finger to her lips. "Looks like she's   
going after the green haired guy."   
  
"He has enough hair," Sano growled, walking away continuing to try to unattach his sister   
from his arm. "What did you think you were doing? I was so sure that she'd want to give   
me her number after I explained where I work . . ."   
  
"And who got you that job?" Faye snapped back, maintaining her cool. "You promised me   
a fun evening, and what do you do? Ask me to sit around a dead coffee shop for two   
hours while you flirt with your latest target." She took a deep breath. "I was feeling   
neglected."   
  
"I should not go out with you." Sano rubbed his forehead, pulling his bangs back from his   
face and watching Faye with dark eyes.   
  
"Yeah, and you need my car while you've let Juri borrow it." Faye pointed out.   
  
"I'm too generous." Sano grumbled.   
  
"And if you didn't have the keys, I would have left you here. How generous is it making   
me sit around . . ."   
  
"Fine, okay." Sano held the door open for her and they both hovered just outside the   
door, trying to remember where they had parked. As they made their way across the   
front of the coffee shop, Faye noticed a solemn man watching from the counter she had   
just left. He had been reading the paper earlier and she hadn't had a closer look, but she   
met his eyes as they passed.   
  
"He's attractive," Faye mused, then curled into her coat. "Too bad."   
  
"What's that?" Sano asked.   
  
"Nevermind, I'm taking you home now."   
  
I'd rather be liberated   
I find myself captivated   
I'd rather stay bold and lonely   
I dream I'm your one and only   
  
Her junior year of high school, Faye had auditioned for the drama club. They took her as   
a potential candidate, but she was denied role after role that year. Vocally, she blamed   
that on her family's trailer house trash reputation. Money had to be the only thing that   
took people places.   
  
The next year, Sano became the first freshman to star in a school production. Faye's   
excuses evaporated. Even though they had similar interests, the brother and sister had   
tried not to let success or failures come between them. However, it would be six years   
after she first tried to join the school plays that she'd earn her first bit part at the Road   
Rage Indy Theater. And that was only because the role was undeniably Faye's character   
without acting.   
  
"How should I read this line?" Faye interrupted the scene, and the crew took the   
opportunity to adjust the spot lights. "Okay, should it be more elegant, like, 'Ahoo!'" Faye   
embellished the vocal noise with a swoop of one pale, thin arm. "Or! Should it be more   
nasal, like, 'Ewhoo.'?" She plugged her nose a moment longer. Then stood straight,   
trying to gage the Saitou's reaction from his stoic face.   
  
"I don't care, really." Saitou answered, monotone, "Whichever you feel is more you in   
this case, Faye." Her shoulder's slumped a little, and with a slightly raised inflection   
Saitou added, "Fine. Do the second one."   
  
"Thanks." Faye frowned, taking a step backwards right into the arms of Spike Spiegel.   
  
"You should be more careful." Spike said.   
  
"Gee, I'm sorry for running into you." Faye pouted, trying to disentangle her limbs from   
the taller man. Spike's eyes widened a fraction, and he smiled as if amused.   
  
"No, don't get me wrong." Spike stuck his hands in his pockets once they were free from   
Faye again. "Don't doubt your performance. If Saitou doesn't say anything, then he likes   
it. It's fine to adjust things--but he's willing to work with an actor's intuition . . . unless it   
conflicts with his master agenda."   
  
"Oh," Faye felt a little bashful and let one hand brush her hair back in an attempt to seem   
casual, she fished for the compliment. "So, I'm doing okay, then?"   
  
"You were born to play her." Spike's look turned wary, but Faye pressed on.   
  
"So, I'm pretty good? Wow, I knew if someone just gave me a chance things would work   
out. Actresses all have to start some place, right? I mean, Julia couldn't have always   
been the genius she is today without a little work huh . . . and here I have natural   
talent." Faye added as if an after thought, "And you're not half bad yourself, Spike-o."   
She let her finger just barely indent the smooth part of his shirt over his chest.   
  
"Uh." Spike's brow furrowed, "Whatever are you getting at?"   
  
"Don't be coy," Faye increased the pressure of her finger. "I see you watching me."   
  
"Yeah, waiting for you to get caught with a cigarette maybe." Spike leaned his chin   
forward threatening, "Which will happen sooner or later the way you flaunt it."   
  
Faye's eyes narrowed and her voice crackled. "Well, well! That's just talent. Talent you'll   
never have since your habit got nixed from day one. Some subtlety on your part, isn't it!"   
  
"Faye!" It was Saitou, and both she and Spike turned to face him--a tad fearful of his   
wrath. Instead, the director seemed to have discovered something, the way his eyes   
actually opened a fraction from their narrow slits. "Whatever that was . . . whatever   
emotion that was you were feeling. Bottle that up. It's exactly what your character needs   
in the next scene. Alright. Places everyone. Scene six."   
  
As Spike walked away, Faye felt as if she were turning to alabaster.   
  
Stop doing what you . . .   
Keep doing it too . . .   
  
"Don't you just want to . . . strangle . . . men, sometimes?" Faye asked ferociously   
attacking her icecream shake. It was a Saturday, so she and Shiori had gone shopping   
for a few hours and were resting in a local sweet shop.   
  
Shiori nursed her sweet with a little more grace, "Someone in specific, Faye?"   
  
Faye pondered for a moment, considering how personal she felt being, then shrugged, "It   
doesn't matter. They're all scum. Take my brother for example. He thinks his idiotic grin   
and go-get-'em attitude will win him a fancy chick. But when it comes down too it, he's   
all about macho-ism with no follow through."   
  
Shiori took another solemn sip, letting Faye continue.   
  
"But . . . there's just something. Something in me that wants to be rescued from my   
isolated self. Independence is great and everything . . . but, there's something nice about   
feeling--adored, even if it means giving up a few liberties to be his princess. Princess is   
good." Faye finally reached the cherry with her long stemmed spoon and balanced it   
between her front teeth for a moment, hesitating.   
  
"Just when I think someone is going to . . . I dunno . . ." Faye suddenly bit the cherry off   
its stem, and chewing quickly--stared out at the street.   
  
"You know who treats his woman like a princess . . ." Shiori began, in a strange voice.   
  
"Who?" Faye leaned forward, her eyes still on the people passing along the sidewalk.   
  
"Ruka."   
  
"Does he ever adore, Juri." Faye commented, distractedly. "Yeah, someone like Ruka."   
  
"But I don't think that Juri could ever really appreciate him. No, not Juri."   
  
"She's so distant, y'know." Faye nodded, "My brother thinks she's cool--but he's not   
interested in her and that's a completely different thing. Yeah, Juri's different."   
  
"But Ruka, he's a prince." Shiori continued, "A real knight in shining armor."   
  
"Hmm." Faye rested her head in her hand and leaned so close to the window that she   
could see her reflection staring back.   
  
I'd rather be jumping ship   
I find myself jumping straight in   
Forever be dozy and dim   
I wake myself thinking of him   
  
  
It was funny how she'd never really noticed Ruka before Shiori mentioned anything.   
There he was, tall and silent for the most part. Letting his more witty observations be   
shared with the company, who never failed to appreciate even the most biting sarcasm.   
Everything Ruka shared was undeniably true.   
  
And there was some weird look he reserved for Juri, especially when he thought no one   
was looking. As if he were afraid she might evaporate if there weren't someone to watch   
her. Almost as if he could not look away, and it was an expression that Juri did not seem   
to share for him.   
  
Unrequited. Damn her, Faye thought, having a deepened sympathy for forsaken lovers.   
Ruka deserved better in her new opinion. The way Juri leaned away when he took her in   
his arms.   
She questioned Sano about what she had observed after rehearsal the next week.   
"Seriously, it's like they're simply going through the motions, like they say."   
  
Sano tried to contemplate the situation seriously as Faye had asked him, crossing his   
arms and letting one hand rub his chin with the appearance of thoughtfulness. "I can see   
what you mean, Dr. Faye--or should I say, Laura? Faye, this happens ever time we have   
a play. Don't you remember the quickly scenes we did for the holidays after the two of   
them first go together. They stopped speaking to each other for weeks--except through   
scripted dialogue of course."   
  
"I know," Faye pondered, still fishing for the answer she wanted, "But don't you think   
that's unhealthy? To drift apart like that over work--it's not like either of them are going   
to leave the theater soon . . . I mean, if I were in a relationship I could . . ."   
  
"Could what, Miss Single?" Sano shook his head with affectionate laughter. "What, are   
you interested in Mr. Clever-Quipper?"   
  
As Sano struck home, Faye wished he hadn't, "Nevermind, you rooster head. What do   
you know about these things? It's not like you've managed to secure more than a first   
date in these past months."   
  
"Ouch," Sano squinted, "Honesty hurts, huh?"   
  
"You too?" Faye let her guard down for a moment with him, feeling very tired. "Let's not   
talk about this."   
  
Stop doing what you . . .   
Keep doing it too . . .   
  
"Faye? Faye?"   
  
"Yes?" Faye picked her head up sleepily from the changing room table where she had   
started to put on her stage make-up and somewhere in the process had dozed off--  
leaving half of the make-up she'd managed to apply while she was still conscious   
smeared across her white T-shirt. "Yee gads! Thank God this wasn't my costume!" Faye   
stood frantically, pulling at the sleeves and surveying the damage.   
  
"Faye? Oh my, that's lovely."   
  
"What do you want, Utena? I didn't forget to put my props in the right places last night,   
did I? I was so certain I remembered . . ."   
  
"No, no, not that." Utena laughed easily and sat on the stool next to Faye. "You're here   
early that's all. No wonder you're falling asleep. You're so diligent to get ready in good   
time."   
  
"Heck no," Faye dismissed the compliment, "I actually haven't really memorized my lines   
for the last scene and I'm screwed if Saitou get's us that far during this first dress   
rehearsal. Need to go over them." She added the last bit sheepishly.   
  
Utena chuckled politely, "I actually figured it was something like that, so I thought I'd   
wake you up . . . but, I do have a question."   
  
"Hmm?" Faye asked, trying to rub off the smudged eyeliner with a finger. Her mouth   
automatically dropping open a little as she leaned into the mirror to reapply the dark   
accent.   
  
"It's about Sano . . . is he seeing anyone?"   
  
Faye jumped. "Utena! I almost poked my eye out!" Faye half stood, letting one long leg   
curl up onto the stool seat. "What the heck are you asking me that for . . . you aren't . . .   
no."   
  
"No, no!" Utena laughed holding up her hands defensively. "Not me. Not me. It's just I   
met this girl and she's so lively and cute. She sort of seemed Sano's type. And I know   
that she really enjoyed 'Post Script' last season. And she came back for the holiday   
quickies too . . . I'm thinking she'd like to meet him."   
  
"Oh my God." Faye let her leg slip down again, and plopped onto the cushion with a   
disbelieving gasp, her mouth still open.   
  
"Yes or no would work just fine." Utena suggested, slightly teasing. "Her name is Misao   
and she's a little firecracker. Talk-a-tive and definitely has the personality to keep up with   
someone as enthusiastic as your brother." While Faye still sat with her mouth open,   
Utena continued, "About two years younger than your brother with chin-length black hair   
and big blue eyes--last time she changed contacts anyway. Just a few inches taller than   
five-foot . . ."   
  
"Okay, enough with the vital signs," Faye interrupted. "I'm just rather stunned that   
someone might actually . . . pursue . . . my brother . . ."   
  
"And . . . ?"   
  
"And what?" Faye asked, her fingers still curled around the pencil.   
  
"Is he seeing anyone?"   
  
"Absolutely not--not that he's told me . . . no." Faye answered.   
  
"I'll take that as a 'no' then." Utena smiled. She got up to leave but took a moment to   
study Faye more closely with not a small amount of affection. "We'll have to keep our   
eyes open for someone for you . . ."   
  
Thinking of Ruka, Faye instantly felt flushed, "Don't you dare." She protested, with a   
touch more hostility than she intended. "I don't need anyone."   
  
Things are getting strange   
I'm starting to worry   
This could be a case   
For Mulder and Scully   
Things are getting strange   
Now I can't sleep alone   
  
Now everything male with a slight ability to attract her attention had Faye feeling off   
center. Even once, while sneaking out back to the foyer in order to light a desperately   
needed cigarette, Faye had happened to catch the profile of Mikage Souji in the staged   
lighting. The way his lips sloped toward his chin had made her pause. And furiously   
embarrassed, Faye had stumbled into the foyer and hurried over to the main desk where   
she stood, arms close and shoulders hunched trying to get the lighter to strike a flame.   
The cigarette couldn't last long enough.   
  
With borrowed confidence, she worked through her scene, for once grateful that her   
character had no romantic attachment. She was even noticing how Saitou's muscles were   
elegantly etched under the tight pull of his T-shirt. Shaking her head, Faye tried to stay   
in character. Nasally! She continued to remind herself--clinging to that like a lifeline.   
  
"Wanna go out tonight, sis?" Sano asked while bumping into her from behind, almost at a   
full run. He feigned surprise at her disgruntled reaction. "Whoops."   
  
"And watch you pick up girls, huh?" Faye pouted, and punched his arm--something she   
typically did goodnaturedly, but that evening she added a little more force behind it.   
  
"Whoa." Sano stepped back, for once noticing a real change in Faye's response, "I was   
just trying to figure out what I could do with this gal Utena wants me to meet--and, well,   
I figured that I'd feel more comfortable if we tag-teamed with you and some fellow you   
might want to take. That way this Missy-chick would see me all natural with you so I   
wouldn't have to explain that later . . ." He added the last bit with a contemplative tone,   
rubbing the back of his head.   
  
"Yeah, and I would go with who . . . pray tell?" Faye stood closer to Sano, pressuring her   
way into his personal space to get her point across.   
  
"I dunno, we could as Ru--"   
  
"No." Faye interrupted sharply, "Don't say his name."   
  
Which was fortunate in a number of ways, because at just that moment the rest of the   
cast appeared, Ruka among them. Shiori alone met Faye's eyes with a curious purpose   
that Faye couldn't fathom.   
  
After pleasantries were exchanged at a distance and the others had left, Sano spoke   
again, "Well, there went your big chance."   
  
"You know better." Faye said, bitterly.   
  
Sano took a deep breath, "Yeah, I guess I do. Maybe we could go pick someone up for   
you tonight. Wanna hit the streets?"   
  
"I'm not that desperate." Faye grumbled softly. "Let's just go get coffee or something."   
  
My bed is made for two   
And there's nothing I can do   
So tell me something I don't know   
If my head is full of you   
Is there nothing I can do?   
Must we all march   
in two by two by two?   
  
"Sorry, Sano," Faye covered her mouth while she laughed out loud, "Looks like you've   
lost the Starbucks girl to the green haired guy." As Sano began to turn, she grabbed his   
sleeve and pulled--somehow causing his head to stop it's path to looking as well. "Wait."   
She lowered her voice. "Who is the guy in the black leather coat . . . why don't I know   
him?" Faye whispered.   
  
"Sis, I thought we came here so you couldn't pick up guys?" It was Sano's turn to put on   
a distressed, whiny face.   
  
"I'm an opportunist, what can I say?" Faye shrugged, leaning back, crossing her arms,   
and obviously admiring the gentleman over Sano's left shoulder. "Nice . . ." She purred.   
  
"Can I look now?" Sano said, none too quietly.   
  
"Just a moment, he's looking . . . now!"   
  
Sano almost turned completely around in his seat, obviously trying to attract attention to   
himself. Surveying the relatively crowed establishment, Sano saw Wakaba first. The   
pony-tailed girl was leaning far across the table that divided her from the green haired   
guy. Was he in a rock band? Wakaba's companion was sitting back in his chair, clearly he   
knew that he was being worshiped by the young girl and basked in his own arrogant   
glory.   
  
"Where?" Sano said.   
  
"Black jacket . . . more to the right . . . with the paper. He's putting it down now. Turn   
around!"   
  
Sano turned to face Faye, one eyebrow reaching upward. "The Russian mafia guy? Faye,   
now really . . ."   
  
"Hey, now." Faye defended her prospect, "He's got great dark hair for that pale skin. And   
what nice shoulders . . . prr."   
  
"More like, puke." Sano let his eyes roll toward the ceiling to follow his eyebrows.   
  
"Okay, practice *those* facial expressions on your own time--Mr. I-want-to-win-a-Tony."   
Faye pulled her attention from the stranger and focused on her rooster head brother. "I'll   
go on this 'getting-to-know-you' outing--if he comes with me . . ."   
  
"Good as done." Sano slid from his seat and began walking toward the darkly dressed   
man before Faye could fathom his response to her words. Desperately pleased, and more   
than a bit anxious, she watched as Sano started a conversation and wrote something on   
the man's napkin. The stranger looked at Faye once, and as bravely as she could, Faye   
tried to smile back--hoping it didn't look as much like the desperate sneer she thought it   
might.   
  
She looked with amazement at Sano as he sat back down. "So . . . golly, I'm impressed.   
What did he say?" She leaned forward, glancing first at the man who went back to his   
coffee and then at Sano again.   
  
"Actually, I invited him to see the press performance. He works for the Times--checking   
out where his article appeared in the paper over coffee, I guess." Sano leaned back,   
pleased with himself.   
  
"What?" Faye hissed--not certain if she were displeased or relived.   
  
"Well, Utena said this Misao girl was coming that night. I figure if you can impress Mr.   
Reporter by then . . . we've got a date."   
  
Faye didn't know what to say at first. Then she did, "This is just awful. Let's get out of   
here."   
  
In the car, as Sano drove her back to her place, Faye began to feel her first genuine   
excitement for the first audience performance, of Never Too Close.   
  
And as for some happy ending   
I'd rather stay single and thin   
Stop doing what you . . .   
Keep doing it too . . . 


	5. The Circle is Small

The Circle is Small  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Buried under the confusion that I create—you might recognize a   
name, a face or some lyric. Most likely because I've borrowed them for the   
duration. Along with the confusion, you might notice a few liberties were taken   
with continuity and genre. Most likely because this is a crossover of several   
anime series all taking place in an alternate reality of my creating. Technically,   
this is the fourth chapter of "Never to Close" the sequel to "Happy Now"—  
altogether becoming the longest fanfic series I've ever written. I'll try my   
hardest to wrap it up soon so it'll actually have an ending! Imagine that! Enjoy)  
  
***  
  
"Enough, enough, Faye! I can't hold any more." Utena tried to rest her chin on   
top of the pile of loose clothing, parts of a tool kit, and a large box full of   
artificial flowers.  
  
Brushing her hands against each other with a satisfied sounding smack, Faye   
rolled her shoulders back trying to set free a little tension. "Tonight's the night,   
Utena! Tonight, you should be prepared to hold more roses than that small   
bundle. Roses from my admirers!" Faye squealed gleefully, dancing around the   
changing room with a little more enthusiasm that she really felt.  
  
"It's only the pre-show performance . . ." Utena began, but Faye cut her off with   
a look.  
  
"Listen, Miss Stage-Manager." Faye took a few menacing steps toward the   
slender girl, all dressed in black so she could slip through the shadows during   
the show, "Tonight! Tonight, Faye Valentine makes her debut to the press."   
The last word resounded toward the ceiling, but when it ended, Faye's look   
changed and she put one hand on Utena's shoulder, jostling the bundle she held   
precariously. "I'm as scared as all get out! Pray for me. I'm going to be awful .   
. ."  
  
"Now, you'll be just . . ." Utena knew she should be consoling and   
understanding, but the limb of a broken chair was uncomfortable stabbing into   
her stomach.   
  
"Just awful!" Faye swooned dramatically, one thin arm blocking her eyes.   
  
"It's not as if your role is that important . . . " Utena was suddenly inspired, "I'm   
sure the man from the Times won't even notice you . . ."  
  
Faye didn't move for a full ten seconds. "What did you say?"  
  
With an amused laugh, Utena spun around and bolted from the room, still   
holding the odds and ends as best she could. The prop room was a disaster area,   
no matter her careful planning and stern scoldings through the last weeks of   
rehersal. The home stretch was wearing everyone thin, even Utena found her   
patience being severely tested.   
  
"Ruka!" Utena greeted, as she promptly deposited her armful onto the center   
table for sorting. "Are you missing something?"  
  
The actor was leaning against the wall looking intently through a collection of   
stage jewelry with his free arm. Without looking up, he answered, "I'm looking   
for some sort of locket. Anything about this big," He demonstrated with his   
fingers.  
  
"What for?" Utena stepped behind him, peering into the box and letting her   
right hand shift a few classic looking broaches. "If you're looking for something   
for Juri—try the jewelry store."  
  
"That's not . . ." Ruka let a heart-shaped locket dangle inches from his face, then   
curling his lip he murmured, "Why are lockets so often this shape? I'm looking   
for a more round one . . ."  
  
"This?" Utena happened to glimpse a pendant of a different shape. "It's not a   
locket though . . ." She said while trying to pull it apart.  
  
Ruka took it from her and tilted his head to one side. "This might do . . . it   
doesn't have to be a real locket." Snapping it into his fist, Ruka nodded.   
"Thanks, Utena."  
  
"Bring it back when . . ." But Utena stopped mid-sentence, the cryptic man had   
slipped out of hearing range, half closing the door behind him. "That's strange.   
Wonder what he's plotting . . ." And in a manner completely her own, she   
dismissed the thought in the same instant to begin sorting her wayward props.  
  
Tedium is overcome  
From obscurity, through melody  
And when I'm blind it helps me  
See through your key  
  
From the back of the auditorium, Mikage Souji stood in the shadows. He wasn't   
wearing all black like the Road Rage stage manager, but he managed to   
disappear into the darkness just as well. The show was running well, the   
opening scene had immediately set the audience up for an evening of   
enthusiastic entertainment as Sano nearly flawlessly ad-libbed his way through a   
difficult scene when Faye experienced her first bout of stage fright.   
  
But the unconditional trust between the siblings had made the scene perhaps   
more amusing than originally rehearsed, and since it was a new play—no one   
really could know the difference. He wondered, fleetingly, about the affection   
between siblings.  
  
A small rustle, a murmur and then the crowd of special guests and critical   
reviewers followed the closed curtain with polite, friendly applause. Mikage   
ducked into the foyer and followed the outward hallways back stage. The   
shadows of the long hall merged into a deep black, but when Mikage pushed   
through the final door—his eyes narrowed, adjusting to the sudden sparkle of   
stagelights. Various members of Utena's team were scuttling about. Above the   
crowd, he spotted Sano—almost head and shoulders above the others. Directing   
traffic, Utena paused a moment to consult with Saitou—who wore his   
traditionally stern and set expression, but his eyes sparkled.  
  
Climbing the narrow spiral stair, Mikage crossed the catwalk to restore order to   
the sound booth. The final scene was ominously and continuously lit, allowing   
the lights director to meander about. Not that Saitou would be very pleased if he   
ever noticed that the control room was sometimes abandoned during the show.  
  
Or maybe it hadn't been. Mikage's step drew short before he opened the door of   
the elevated surveillance room. It wasn't closed. Leaning back, Mikage was   
hidden by the dark, but the voices were still plain.  
  
"No, I'm not very surprised to find you here." It was Ruka, while his words   
were clipped, his voice was steady if overly-controlled. "Brings back a lot of   
memories, actually."  
  
"Shouldn't you be celebrating with the others. Once again, you've succeeded   
beyond your wildest expectations."  
  
"'Never to Close' . . . a perfect title, for us. No, Shiori? We'll never have what   
we want."  
  
"No? I'm quite happy. Here with you . . . all. This is all I've ever wanted."  
  
"To observe? . . . why do I get the feeling that you're more than ready to   
participate this time?"  
  
"All I've wanted to do is appreciate true art, Ruka."  
  
"And this? You haven't brought this into it again, have you?"  
  
"I have no idea . . ."  
  
"No? Giving until you're uncomfortable, and then taking it all back?"  
  
"Let's not talk about this here, now. You forget yourself."  
  
With those words, Shiori slipped out, brushing past Mikage but hardly   
recognizing him as anything but another intrusion of the metal structure. Even   
in the silhouette of the glowing light from below, her back was straight and tall.  
  
Expressionless, Mikage entered the narrow control center and passed by Ruka   
who stood in his checkered suit, head down, fists closed.   
  
"Hey, Mikage."  
  
The quiet man glanced back from where he'd started to put everything back to   
first mark for the next evening's show.  
  
"What am I going to do?"  
  
Mikage's eyes studied Ruka for a moment then replied simply, "You will do   
what you have to."  
  
No one can touch, no need to rush  
Presented by my alibi  
When I'm down it brings me round  
So easily  
  
"Ah, there you are!" Faye pulled Shiori prematurely from the iron staircase and   
swung her around. "I looked for you everywhere during curtain call, but it was   
so crowded. I've got to find Mr. Times. Can you believe that I don't know his   
name yet? But I'm certain I can spot him from a crowd . . ." Faye paused from   
urging Shiori forward, and her eyebrows lowered, puzzled.   
  
Glancing over her shoulder, Shiori saw Ruka come down the stairs without even   
giving them a glance. Their eyes met again, Faye's asking a dozen questions.   
Neither of the spoke, as Sano plucked his sister up from behind and into a wild   
swing and a whoop of merriment that Faye could not ignore for all her exuberant   
energy left over from the show.   
  
Then Spike and Juri were there, trying to maintain their more solemn   
dispositions while ridiculously happy grins smeared their faces. Juri's smile   
loosened a moment, "Congratulations Shiori, good work."  
  
"And you'll get to do it again tomorrow and again Friday and twice on Saturday   
. . ." Spike congratulated.   
  
"Time to meet the invited press in the main practice room." Saitou walked   
through their festivities and everyone instinctively paused to regard him.   
"Himura is with them already, and I need to go temper his playwright   
disposition. Spiegel, Sagara—put those bottles down. We need *sober*   
representatives from the cast."  
  
"Invited press," Faye mused, "What about the uninvited press?"  
  
Saitou sneered, "They'll be there as well . . . only a tad more dangerous. Leave   
them to me."  
  
"Yes, sir." Faye chuckled, "I, uh, don't suppose I could come with . . ."  
  
"Interested in a private interview?" Saitou asked, without changing his   
expression to recognize Faye's dismayed look, "Don't worry. Your brother has   
filled us all in."  
  
"What?" Faye pleaded, following Saitou's already disappearing form, "What's   
that supposed to mean?" Her last words a pitch more desperate. "Do I get to   
come with?"  
  
"Let them be all business like . . . we've got the reservations at International   
Velvet lined up. Celebration central." It was Utena steering them toward the   
stage. "But pick up your props first—or you'll go prop-less next time!"  
  
"I guess we'll catch up with you—we've got press to please. C'mon, Sagara."   
Spike stuffed his hands into the pockets of his costume and made his way   
toward the practice room.  
  
"Would you like to go together?" Juri glanced over at Ruka, who had remained   
absent from the conversation.   
  
Ruka respected her request. Nothing was to be taken for granted. His answer   
was just as hesitant and reverential--through the politeness, something had   
changed.  
  
Could he forget, for one night?  
  
At eight o'clock I take my leave  
And when I'm done and dusted  
Tonight I'm going to be . . .  
  
International Velvet was classy and dark enough for a couple to hide away. But   
that evening, Juri sat with the others at a handful of round tables nearest the   
stage. A slim man with slick dark hair coaxed melody from his saxophone. She   
sipped a coke, wanting to be alert, but the general atmosphere of the   
establishment and the adrenalin fueled energy of her companions were waxing   
away at her enthusiasm.   
  
Why did life have to feel so . . . normal?   
  
Ruka made some comment and the others laughed politely.  
  
Why did love have to be so quaint? Unnecessary.  
  
His eyes were bright with whatever witticism made them smile. And his smile,   
it had a way of seeming part sneer, part hopeful. All too human.  
  
So on and off?  
  
Shiori, in her seat across the way, seemed just as distanced from the others.   
Only she'd let her lips curl occasionally, and answer appropriately when spoken   
to. She let her wrist move the liquid of the drink dangerously near the brim of   
her glass. She leaned over to say something closer to Utena who was trying to   
build something out of the straw wrappers.   
  
"Here we are!" Faye stumbled into the table, sober. Definitely sober, except for   
the amused looking shadow that had found something interesting enough to   
follow. That man must have been the journalist Sanosuke had invited to the   
opening performance.   
  
"Good showing tonight." The dark stranger nodded, leaving his hand in his coat   
pocket, obviously deciding that there were too many people to justify reaching   
across the table.   
  
"Gosh, do I need a smoke!" Faye admitted, pulling out her lighter. "Oh gosh,   
you don't mind do you?" She turned to look at the foreign looking man,   
something about his eyes told about an Asian heritage.  
  
"No, Faye." He was surprisingly calm, but easy going in his cool intrigue.  
  
"Thanks." Faye took a long drag and claimed a seat. The reporter took the seat   
next to her comfortable in his anonymity. Faye sat up straighter and laughed,   
"Sorry, sorry. I'm so excited still. Everyone, this is Shin . . . uh, Shin what?"  
  
"Alexander Edinburgh . . . is my given name, actually." The man leaned   
forward and took an unclaimed glass of water. "Shin is my Japanese name . . . it   
caught on fast in college and stuck."  
  
"Edinburgh?" Faye lifted an eyebrow. "What a pen name . . ."  
  
"What? Not enough seats for us?" Sano had made his way through the crowds,   
his promised date in toe. Utena sprang up from her tentative Golden Gate   
Bridge creation and greeted Misao eagerly. Spike and Saitou were with them,   
obviously not chatting shop since Saitou had his wallet out and was showing   
pictures.  
  
"Family picture?" Ruka asked when the other men came closer.   
  
"Pictures." Spike raised his eyebrows—emphasizing the "s." "Knew that   
Kenshin Himura was a family man, but our Hajime Saitou?"  
  
"You're married?" Faye leaned back in her chair, showing of her angular and   
white neck. Flirtatious Faye was an amusing thing to watch.  
  
"Why does everyone act so surprised?" Saitou took his wallet back from Spike   
who had begun to riffle through the receipts and bills. "I trust the festivities   
tonight will not keep anyone from being tip-top shape tomorrow night. Granted   
it's another small audience, but it's the last show before Friday's opening night."  
  
"Don't talk shop." Spike slapped the sturdy man's shoulder. "Talk family.   
Where ever did you meet that classy dame?"  
  
Juri stopped listening, to observe Faye leaning closer to Mr. Edinburgh. Shin   
seemed amused, which was half the battle when it came to understanding Sano's   
sister. But the expressions in their eyes left Juri unconvinced. What was it?   
Affection? Mutual admiration? Unbridled passion? And how long would that   
last?  
  
Meanwhile, Sano had steered his companion toward the area that was being   
cleared away by the growing number of dancers. International Velvet was a   
tight-knit establishment. Comfortably cozy. The girl was chatting a mile a   
minute, almost loud enough that Juri could make out a few words. She seemed   
smitten with the young actor, who didn't mind the attention at all. But when   
would Sano take another person's feelings seriously? He was too young, too   
brash to commit.  
  
"Dancing!" Faye smashed the remains of her cigarette into the middle of the   
table, took a long drink, and pulled on Shin's sleeve. "Take off your coat,   
buddy. Let's keep an eye on my brother." Shin's eyes opened wider, but he   
smiled easily enough and let himself be led away.  
  
"That seems like a good idea," Utena said and Ruka stood with her.   
  
"Coming?" Ruka glanced down at Juri. Juri felt like doing anything except   
dancing and shook her head quickly, foregoing all protests or argument.  
  
"Mind if I borrow him then?" Utena smiled, the steady music fuelling her   
enthusiasm. She linked elbows with Ruka and said something to make the taller   
man laugh, his hair falling forward with the appearance of endless optimism.  
  
That left Shiori. Although, Spike and Saitou were conversing about the benefits   
of marriage over singleness. Juri fleetingly remembered her first romance with   
the curly haired actor. Barely out of school, Spike had made her feel . . . but she   
shook her head and drank deeply from the carbonated coke. It wasn't worth it.   
Putting someone else first in her life and hoping, desperately hoping, that he'd   
always return the same for her.  
  
"Don't drink too deeply. You'll get lost in it." Shiori's voice broke the thought.  
  
"It's coke."  
  
"Does that make a difference?" Shiori was sitting back in her chair, either arm   
resting against the length of the chair's wooden one, tucking her chin in and   
watching Juri with harmless, lowered eyes.   
  
"I'm appreciating the moment." Juri refused to give a point.  
  
"Fine." Shiori leaned forward, putting an elbow on either side of her drink and   
twirling the straw through it. "I admire that, really. But it's not the moment   
you're appreciating, Juri. I can see the past swimming through your eyes—  
distorting the present."  
  
Juri didn't comment.  
  
"And why do I know, because the same thing . . ." She paused. "The same very   
thing happens to me, most every day."  
  
"And how do you keep that from happening?" Juri challenged, in a quiet voice.  
  
"I ignore it." Shiori lifted her eyes from the glass, "Until it goes away."  
  
"Does that work?" Juri wondered.  
  
"Why don't we try it?"  
  
I'll be a karaoke queen, it's not me you see  
I'm gonna take you down to a place  
I know you'd rather be  
It's just a three minute song  
It doesn't last very long  
But it'll take you to a place I know you'd   
rather be  
  
"How can it still be so cold?!?" Juri felt exhilarated and scampered from the   
street onto the opposite walkway. Her companion followed fast, and huddled   
close as they waited for the next walk light to change.  
  
"I'm completely numb." Shiori rubbed her mittens together and blew on them.   
Her breath a thick white mist. "I can't feel my toes anymore."  
  
"Where are we going?" The taller woman asked, almost eagerly. After   
sprinting down two city blocks against a wind chill threatening a clear night   
below zero, Juri could scarcely breath, let alone dwell on the stuffy stress left   
behind at the International Velvet. Where everything was so . . .   
  
"I don't care. But I'm going to be a human popsicle if, oh, it's green now."   
  
And with an animated squeal, Shiori pulled Juri across the road.   
  
"Here," Shiori pointed to neon lights, "What's this?"  
  
"Heck, I don't know. Ru-we always go to the Velvet, you know?" Juri tossed   
her hair as the two women huddled and hurried toward the doors of the   
establishment. "Karaoke Queen, huh? Can you sing?" She asked as they pulled   
the door open and entered.  
  
Hey you can dance  
Oooh sha la la la  
  
And melted. From her forehead to her ears to her lips to her toes, Juri felt as if   
the iceblocks of her emotions were melting against the fiery heat of the karaoke   
bar. She slipped the coat from her shoulders and felt as if she were shedding old   
skin. Then there were Shiori's fingers between her own.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
Common sense has excuses  
Recklessness, its uses  
But don't go fusing silence with charisma  
  
"Where is she?"   
  
Sano spun his lithe partner one last time and stopped to acknowledge Ruka.   
"Where is she, who?"  
  
"Damn." Ruka ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the floor. "Juri,   
Sano, Juri. She's left with that girl."  
  
"Shiori?" Sano guessed rightly, knowing he was right when Ruka turned his   
head away.   
  
"I'm losing her. Losing, Sano." Ruka's voice was sharp. "But it's worse than   
that. I have to let her go, I'd let her go . . . but I can't let . . ."  
  
"Ruka . . ." Sano began, glancing over at Misao who had heard enough to nod   
her agreement and walked toward Utena and the others. Reassured, Sano   
squeezed Ruka's shoulder, getting an icy response and the other man looked up   
with angry eyes. Wincing inwardly, Sano worked off his growing stress by   
pushing back his unruly brown bangs. "What do you want to do?" Generously,   
he offered, "Talk?"  
  
"About what? About how I've tried protecting her from this before . . . and now   
again, it's happening again. Quite like before. And again and again. And all I   
want to do is make her happy."  
  
"Sometimes you've got to let them go . . . I couldn't have Julia so I'm trying out   
other fish, like Misao here—and we've got a bit more in common and . . ." Sano   
stuttered, "I'm not being helpful, am I?"  
  
"Not really." Ruka's eyes crinkled in mirthful distress. "I'm almost past the   
point of being concerned about myself . . . it's just hard to watch a friend . . . a   
friend . . ."  
  
"Man," Sano leapt at his chance to say something helpful, "If any of us have   
made a dent in, been a friend to Juri Arisugawa . . . it was you. Quite honestly, I   
think you're the only person she respects—even if she distrusts you with her   
feelings."  
  
"Respects?" Ruka sighed. "My respect is too tangled up in my feelings. Or   
rather, my feelings are dictated by who I respect."  
  
"I guess that leaves me out . . . wanna talk to Saitou? Or Utena, rather?" Sano   
shrugged, but grinning hopeful that he was doing his part well enough.  
  
"Not so sure of your lines without a script there, rooster head?" Ruka said   
affectionately picking up Sano's nickname. "Me either. Me either."  
  
"Soooo, what are you going to do?"  
  
Ruka shrugged, "Wait? What else can I do?"  
  
At nine o'clock you can count on me  
And when I'm up I'm ready  
Tonight I'm going to be  
  
Singing together, drinking together, that had worked a little more smoothly than   
the dancing. At first the touches seemed accidental, then Juri began to suspect   
they were more coy. So she'd pull away, moving away one arm, then her waist.   
She wanted to forget, forget what it felt like to be touched.   
  
At the same time . . .  
  
Then there were fingers from behind, placed over her eyes. Slim, little fingers   
that didn't block her sight, because Juri had closed her eyes long before. "Guess   
who?" Came Shiori's voice. "It's not what you think it is. Or maybe it is." Her   
words came closer and quieter, just barely heard above the off-key singers. "But   
is that such a bad thing? Just to explore? For a little bit."  
  
Juri's breath caught as Shiori's fingers slid down her face, along her shoulders,   
between her arms and around. Lacing around her belly, holding a bit too close.  
  
"I'm not free." Juri whispered.  
  
"What?" Shiori comforted, leaning in. "Ruka knows. He knows and he can't   
really do anything about our feelings. Don't let him hold you captive."  
  
"No." Juri complained a little more strongly. "I'm not free. Not with him." She   
pulled away. "Not with you." Shiori might have been the only other person in   
the bar. "Not with you either."  
  
"Juri . . ." Shiori's confidence evaporating from her tone. "Juri?"  
  
"I want, I want to forget. But I don't think that's going to happen." Juri tossed   
her hair. "I'm going to think about this. A little more." She held out a hand to   
hold Shiori back. "On my own." Juri's mouth softened. "Otherwise, I don't   
know what might have happened . . . tonight."  
  
I'm doomed to fail  
The stage gives way  
It's an apostrophe to my legacy  
But though I'm bruised  
I'll happily to it all again  
  
It was too cold to walk the streets like Juri had hoped. It had sounded somewhat   
romantic before she'd passed the third street sign and started heading back   
toward the theater when her nose felt like it had frozen off. Fortunately, she   
didn't feel like tears which would have certainly felt like icicles in the evening   
weather.   
  
She was a little uneasy, but no longer sad. It was too late for things to go back   
to the way they were before. Before Shiori, before the fascinating thrill . . .   
undeniable. But it was too late, there were things behind that smile Juri couldn't   
trust. Ruka had been straightforward. Both about his affection and his   
disapproval.   
  
Juri wasn't ready to bend to his wishes this time.  
  
However, she wasn't ready to gamble either. Being given shady, sweet love   
would be wasteful. And Shiori deserved better than being used by Juri's hot and   
cold needs . . . even if Shiori thought she knew what that meant.   
  
Juri wasn't ready to surrender her mysterious will power.  
  
Stepping up to the Road Rage, Juri felt the urge to yell. To scream with all of   
her power. She harnessed the building threat until she'd walked through the   
foyer, down the center aisle, up the side stairs and onto the stage. Juri glanced   
around, taking in the empty seats—wine red, the tightly folded curtains on either   
side, the dark control room above—hidden but seeing everything. Maybe next   
time, she'd volunteer to help Utena. Give up acting for a little while. To rest   
from pretending.  
  
She took a deep breath, pulling in more oxygen than she thought she had ever   
needed before.   
  
At 10 o'clock don't wait up for me  
Cos when I'm up I'm ready  
Tonight I'm gonna be   
  
Matthew!  
  
"Matthew?"  
  
Juri nearly stumbled from surprise. "Who?" She rasped, recovering from her   
grand expulsion of air.  
  
"You yelled, 'Matthew'."   
  
Reclining in the corner was Mikage Souji.   
  
"Matthew?" Juri paused, not intending to ever have to explain. She continued   
to breathe heavily. "Matthew was . . . well. He was someone I thought was   
special to me. The first one. You know how that first precious person can haunt   
you forever . . ." Juri stood straighter and walked over to the omniscient   
seeming technician.  
  
"His name was Matthew?"  
  
"Yeah," Juri sat down next to him, leaning against the wall, and letting her head   
roll toward him. "Matthew. He . . ."  
  
"Mamiya."  
  
"Mamiya? Oh." Juri tucked her legs up close and affectionately added another,   
"oh," this time one of understanding.  
  
They shared the silence comfortably. Not touching. Not demanding.  
  
"Really??" Juri broke the moment. "You?"   
  
Tentatively, Mikage Souji chuckled.  
  
And you can dance if you want to  
Show appreciation  
But step up to the mike for the full sensation  
  
And you can dance  
And you can dance  
And you can dance  
And you can ooh la la la ooh sha la la  
  
And you can 


	6. Our Guessing Game

Our Guessing Game  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: If you've come this far, you know what to expect. I don't accept   
blame for anything! Characters—not mine. Reality—quite alternate and   
crossed over. Lyrics—products of pure genius, in this case the ever predictable   
choice, Catatonia. This particular fic follows Happy Now and the multi-part   
Never Too Close, so if you read this and scratch your head, perhaps you might   
make sure you've read the others first. Overall, this is fanfiction—don't take the   
fun out of sloppy continuity and terrible spelling . . . grin. My only goal in   
writing this—to be interesting. One more interesting point—crafted into the   
prose is some of Alithea's poetry intended for this story. Make sure to check out   
the complete poems themselves.)  
  
***  
  
Approximately half-way through the early spring season show. Kenshin Himura   
floated in during the between-acts intermission. He'd seen the show a half-  
dozen times, and technically more considering all of the rehearsals he'd   
attended. Still, "Never Too Close" was his sophomore script and he was endless   
amused to see the characters on the stage—actually breathing and speaking in   
the places he had created them to. The desperate terror of watching "Post   
Script" in the fall was still a cloudy, blurred memory. He hoped to chisel every   
detail of this show into his memory. To enjoy, comfortably, something he had   
created when it was done well.  
  
Taking an open seat, he settled his chin over his crossed arms—letting his index   
fingers fold over his lips which began mouthing the dialogue along with the   
actors on stage.   
  
"And fingers run and skip down the keys, fingers seem to hit each note with ease   
and the song that plays I can not ignore, those fingers run down my spine with   
more purpose than before."  
  
The woman speaking commanded attention with her stern voice, all other faces   
on the stage were turned toward her. Kenshin felt a delighted shiver—  
somehow, Juri Arisugawa was stealing the show this evening. Almost as if she   
were no longer perfecting the character, but that the character were perfecting   
her so that the two were indistinguishable.   
  
Not like the character was so different from her. Watching the actors play   
together, speak together, be together between scenes during rehersal—Kenshin   
could not help but observe their natural personalities splintering—blossoming   
under the pressure of the craft. Acting was an exhausting business, but the   
rewards were evident as well from the inner strengths they used to sustain   
themselves. Juri's seemed the most obvious to her nature. The way she   
appraised a person with a look and organized them with a sentence. Her   
affections were earnest, but tumultuous. Nothing could come easily since she   
had to reconstruct her entire worldview to correct an error. Each adjustment was   
like an altered chord to a familiar song.  
  
Or at least, that was the way it seemed to Kenshin. Watching Ruka standing   
statuesque in his checkered suit, arms crossed, as sturdy and as dashing as the   
statue of David. And just as deliberate in his difficult lines, "Wander away to a   
distant place, lose my way till there are no steps left to trace." The boy had   
talent, but nothing to take him toward a leading role while his attentions were so   
focused on the leading lady. There were rumors about Ruka, but nothing more   
specific than sinister speculations. While the fellow was on the best of terms   
with Saitou—who acted like he owned Road Rage—Ruka's contract was   
finished by the summer. And it was not unusual for other directors to frequent   
Ruka's company.  
  
Besides, the Road Rage's newest sensation had brought a breath of new direction   
to the theater. Even Spike had discovered new aspects of his potential playing   
off the young roosterhead, Sanosuke Sagara. Having chatted with the young   
man, they'd discovered common interest in the path they envisioned for the   
small theater. And while Saitou was an obstacle to a number of those ambitious,   
the wolfish director provided an undeniable balance and sensibility.  
  
While the cast took final bows, Kenshin heard his name.  
  
"Mr. Himura . . . enjoying the show?"  
  
"Miss Shiori," the writer tucked his head bashfully, half hiding behind his mop-  
like hair. "Why are you wandering about?"  
  
"Oh, it's just something I do." Shiori was out of costume and looked strikingly   
different. Almost as if the street clothes were a better costume to hide her true   
self. "I'm finished so early I can't just wait backstage for the rest of the show. I   
like to watch the last scenes from the audience sometimes . . . since we hardly   
have a completely full show . . ."  
  
A dozen flags alarmed Kenshin's attentive listening. After writing intentionally   
heavy sentences, he certainly could recognize complicated meanings   
communicated from others. He spoke carefully, "Wednesday matinees are   
rather slow. Although, I would say that "Never too Close" has a better audience   
than my other work, overall."  
  
"Better audience?' Shiori laughed gaily, as if she were a classical actress from   
the twenties. "Better performances too. I saw "Post Script" you know . . . it was   
very, cutting edge . . . with the gender bending. Quite suggestive and got   
audiences talking, but the actors lacked . . . shall we say, authenticity."  
  
"I didn't know you were such a theater critic." Kenshin said with a friendly lilt   
to his voice, maintaining his neutrality the best he could.  
  
"Oh, I criticize all the things I love—to make sure I'm really getting the best of   
what I want." Shiori winked, "And your writing shows such an inclination for   
improvement. Want to write something to challenge us again. Of course, the   
Road Rage will be the rage—pardon the punning!—if we keep pushing the   
envelope."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind, that I will." Kenshin smiled graciously, sensing a layer   
of insecurity under Shiori's forward requests. Almost as if the girl were   
uncertain about pushing anything . . . but keen on doing it anyway, no matter the   
results. She was fortunate that his creativity was not bruised so easily. "But   
writing is often quite spontaneous, and the results often are quite different than   
what we intend. So it's best to built a trustworthy heart and move forward from   
there."  
  
Shiori's bravado slowed visibly, as if she were moving under water and of the   
far side of unbreakable glass. Then, almost without missing a beat, she   
continued, "Well, I certainly hope I'm part of whatever masterpiece you . . .   
discover . . . for us next."  
  
The sun is shining  
We should be making hay  
But we're dead from the waist down  
Like in California  
  
"I'm not one to talk, but have you noticed something different between Ruka and   
. . ."   
  
"Faye, are we going to poke our noses into other people's business during the   
show?" Spike didn't look down on his prying companion and pulled at his shirt   
sleeves, wondering if the clothing had been washed and who he could blame for   
the new uncomfortable itching. "Does Utena clean these?"  
  
"God, I hope so!" Faye's nose twitched, "Smelly boy sweat every night."  
  
"Did *you* wash this . . ." Spike's voice shifted to dangerously low tones.  
  
"What ever gave you that idea?" Faye defended herself, inching backwards, her   
eyes shifting from side to side looking for a conversation change. "I've finished   
with props, I'm an actress!"  
  
Spike snickered, "Doesn't matter. I'm going to ask for a new one anyway. I   
don't think my character would want naked wrists."  
  
Faye rolled her eyes to the ceiling in disbelief. Some people, in her opinion,   
were too fixated on learning everything about their characters. She crossed her   
arms and kept her suspicions to herself as she watched for several minutes as   
Juri passed one direction to deposit her props and Ruka crossed the other way   
each giving a civil nod. The couple had always been cool during   
performances—allowing each other creative space. Still, the rigidity of it all   
was new. Almost, an understanding.  
  
"Were you asking me something?" Spike asked, taking a tattered toothpick from   
his lips and tossing it into the nearest garbage can.   
  
"Yeah," Faye said, "When's your cast party, and can Shin come?"  
  
Victory is empty  
There are lessons in defeat  
But we're dead from the waist down  
We are sleeping on our feet  
  
Juri wondered at how wonderfully warm the sun could feel even as the car   
passed through streets with lingering drifts of snow. The way it warmed her   
arms and the tops of her legs. It was almost as comforting as the constant   
chattering of her carpooling companion. Sano was making some observation   
about the apparent loneliness of one goose flying the seasons by itself.  
  
"Sort of makes you wonder what it did to be left behind. Is he lost? Slow or   
old? Or is the perception all backwards?" Sano philosophized, his voice   
shifting naturally to sound not unlike a commercial narrator, "Perhaps, just   
maybe, the goose has instinctually anticipated the necessity of flight prior to the   
others—and sensing the changing seasons first—must follow his individual   
premonition long before the others." Sano sighed, "But it's still lonely."  
  
"Why are you thinking about things like that?" Juri asked, wondering how their   
roosterhead could be surprisingly contemplative at times. "Something bothering   
you? Getting the urge to move on?"  
  
"No, not really." Sano shrugged, shaking his long brown hair and it fell just as   
recklessly as it had before, "I dunno what's brought this on . . . perhaps it's the   
reluctance of spring to come and remedy this chilly weather. There's still   
blasted snow on the ground."  
  
Juri didn't say anything, but rested her hands awkwardly across her lap. Feeling   
a tad guilty that her body was so warm . . . and that she had no answers.   
Nothing with which to explain the little things that might be observed from the   
outside. And how the wind which howled against the small vehicle was   
undeniably frigid. And how it waited for her, waited for her to wake up.  
  
"And it'd be so much easier if we all simply hibernated, y'know. I mean, I eat   
too much and I just want to fall asleep—sort of like when I drive in this kind of   
weather." Sano caught her attention as he unknowingly stumbled across her   
own thoughts. "So deceptively comfortable with the sun so bright, and the sky   
so blue—but honestly, honestly, it's only a delay."  
  
Juri didn't want to philosophize. She wanted to simply fall asleep. Just as Sano   
turned into the apartment lot.  
  
"Well, thanks for helping me pick out a gift for Faye-faye, y'know how damn   
picky she can be about things . . ." Sano smiled, and twisted the key from the   
ignition. "To be honest with you, the show's making it hard to act normal. All   
those cryptic double meanings—and trying to keep them all in mind so the   
audience knows that you actually *know* what you're saying. That's enough to   
make me wonder about all sorts of little things I'd never notice before . . ."  
  
Juri smiled just a little, to show her affection. But all she wanted to do was   
sleep. Or stay in the car forever. Even as Sano chatted endlessly in his own   
fashion, she wanted nothing other than the simple moments to last forever.   
  
We stole the songs from birds in trees  
Bought us time on easy street  
Now our paths, they never meet  
We chose to court and flatter greed, ego disposability  
I caught a glimpse, and it's not me  
  
Not often, but sometimes, Ruka felt guilty. Across from him, Utena was   
cheerfully cutting apart her eggs and deliberately breaking pieces of her biscuit   
to dip into the black coffee. Who would have thought Utena liked her coffee   
black and her bread in bite-size pieces, Ruka wondered.  
  
They were sharing breakfast at the family restaurant located kitty-corner from   
the theater. Sharing in the sense that Utena was eating and Ruka was paying—  
so far his omelet untouched. The morning sun was high enough that it bathed   
their table in sunlight—revealing the multitude of sparkling dust particles   
separating him from their acting stage manager.   
  
And as thin as the air between them might have been, Ruka felt as though her   
were sitting inside an omelet, tentatively looking out. He glanced toward the   
street. So far, no one had been in the Road Rage that day.   
  
He had intercepted Utena on her way to unearth the essential props that never   
made it back to their proper homes the night before. Convincing her that two   
pairs of hands could do the same work in less time, he had courted her with   
breakfast intending to . . . but whatever that had been, Ruka had forgotten. All   
that remained was a vague uneasiness and a convinced worry that Utena couldn't   
have helped him regardless.  
  
"This place always has super biscuits—but I still like them *with* the coffee.   
Funny little quirk I picked up from a roommate back in college . . ." Utena   
smiled, easily taking all of the conversation onto herself. "Thanks for asking   
me, I seldom get to hang out with you one on one like this—and the Velvet   
parties are so chaotic or silly. Nice to discover that we both have awake-in-the-  
morning faces, eh?" She chewed the next bite of her biscuit solemnly, glancing   
out the window herself.  
  
"You went to college?" Ruka said, sounding interested, but recognizing the   
pointlessness of trying conversation. His voice thick, he still felt the disuse of   
the evening stealing it's typical abilities.   
  
Utena nodded, "Peculiar little school near my hometown. I tried to major in   
fencing, and then took a few sociology classes for a double major—both of   
which have been incredibly useful in my present profession."   
  
Ruka nodded, letting his own half-amused smile communicate for his   
untrustworthy voice. Utena smiled back, obligingly. She glanced at his meal,   
and without changing her disposition whatsoever, continued her conversation   
about . . .  
  
But Ruka wasn't listening at that point. Taking in the old brick building and the   
corner door of the indy theater, he finally saw what it was he'd forgotten he was   
waiting for. "Shiori." He breathed.  
  
"Oh, there's Shiori." Utena said, letting the observation filter into whatever   
she'd been speaking about before seamlessly.   
  
"I should . . ." Ruka started, again realizing he wasn't certain what words came   
next.  
  
"You should." Utena said calmly, taking up the coffee cup in both hands and   
smiling still. The same genuine smile put Ruka to an uncommon ease.   
Adopting her intrinsic confidence, Ruka stood and slipped on his coat.   
  
"Here." Ruka set his wallet on the table. "You'll find enough in here, just bring   
it back . . . I need to . . ." By this point, Shiori was already inside the theater.  
  
"I'll bring it later." Utena tilted her head to one side, accommodatingly.   
"Should I ask for a box?"  
  
"I don't keep leftovers." Ruka said, sadly.  
  
Make hay not war  
Make hay not war  
Make hay not war  
Or else we're done for  
And we're d from the w down  
  
"In a hurry?" Spike met Ruka part way to the doors.   
  
"I know I'm early . . ." Ruka said, "I met Utena for lunch and just came over.   
I'll be giving her a hand with things."  
  
"I left some stuff here I need to get sorted out." Spike explained, "My shirt . . .   
well, if I want a new one I have to find it myself and Saitou clammed up tighter   
than an oyster when I asked for reimbursement. He's all about keeping his   
actors happy—until it comes to money. Does he think we act here for the   
luxurious paychecks. Now we're buying our own costumes . . . " Spike paused,   
"You don't think this will become mandatory?"  
  
Ruka felt an unexplainable, cold sweat under his own shirt. "I dunno, Spike-o."   
Ruka said with a tight grin, pulling to his ears like a grimace. The air suddenly   
seemed considerably colder and numbing, pressing into his skull like forceful   
fingers.  
  
"Ruka?" Spike asked, narrowing his eyes and holding out a hand to steady his   
friend. "Are you . . ."  
  
"Not good. Give me a moment." Ruka tried to concentrate on the symptoms, in   
turn acknowledging them and rejecting their obvious indications. If only he   
could keep his legs from shaking.  
  
"Inside." Spike spoke with authority. He pulled forward on Ruka's elbow,   
pulling open the door and propping it open with his other arm. "Sit." He   
commanded next, letting Ruka bend to rest on the foyer desk. Concealing his   
concern, Spike pulled out a toothpick from the tired looking box nearby. He   
flipped the stick between his fingers for a moment, watching it intently. Then   
perching it between his lips, Spike looked at Ruka again.  
  
The other man's hands were placed on each knew for balance, his   
characteristically pale skin betraying no flush, but ribbons of sweat were   
beginning along his brow.   
  
"Is this what happens?" Spike asked.   
  
"It's happened before, always something like this." Ruka answered, his voice   
still reluctant. "I hate it."  
  
"You do have control issues." Spike said coolly, but letting his sarcasm come as   
a comfort. "Always made you a more reliable actor in the end."  
  
"And it's . . . ending." Ruka sighed, resigned. "I only wanted to make it through   
this show, and perhaps go off some place else. Without making a fuss, it might   
seem like I were testing out other theaters."  
  
"And Juri?" While the other was sharing, Spike felt obliged to ask. He had   
invested interests.  
  
Ruka gave a breathy laugh, "Out of my hands." He looked up at Spike seeking   
understanding. "Just like you said—only if not one way, then the other. So   
much is unfinished--until I feel as if I've failed somewhat. Or completely."  
  
"Don't we all." Spike laughed, just as bitterly.  
  
There's no contracts binding  
No bad scene beyond repair  
But when you're dead from the waist down  
You're too far gone to even care  
  
"I didn't see you there."   
  
Mikage Souji continued to lean against the back stage wall while Shiori   
continued to meet his eyes, unflinching. She spoke again, "Are you always   
here? Don't you have other ambitions besides the theater?"  
  
"Why are you here?" Mikage asked without emphasis or interest in the answer,   
but the point was not lost on the young woman.   
  
She blinked as her face distorted a little by the guileless confrontation. Then,   
composing herself, Shiori shrugged innocently. "Does it matter? I'm one of the   
actresses here, and I can come and go as I please."  
  
"I can't help but notice that you are quite a creature of habit." Mikage   
commented, again with the toneless texture smoothing his voice of implications.  
  
"Habit?" Shiori asked, puzzled. "Routine, maybe." She perked up at the   
thought. "Yes, routine. I'm quite predictable with my disciplined routine."  
  
"Technicalities." Mikage waved one hand, letting his head lean back against the   
wall—observing Shiori through his tinted glasses. The theater was still dark,   
and the glasses served to disrupt their eye contact at that angle. "They are all   
symptoms of the past unresolved."  
  
"I don't believe I've ever heard you speak so many words at one time." Shiori   
spoke lightly. "Anyway, I'm so new to the theater, I like to come and be   
comfortable here—on stage, without the audience to complicate things."  
  
Shiori stood still while Mikage sat without comment. She felt a growing   
tension, but sensed none of it reciprocated by the solemn, ever-present phantom.   
  
"Well, I've answered *your* question," Shiori spoke again, her voice just loud   
enough to get caught in the stage lights for a moment. "Will you answer mine?"  
  
"I come to sit with the ghosts."   
  
Shiori blinked again, trying to calculate the man's answers and not   
understanding.  
  
"You've pushed just enough." Mikage's voice seemed to come from everywhere   
and nowhere—dictated by honesty. "But not too hard.   
  
"If you've come to find your ghosts—be prepared to meet them, as they are."  
  
The sun is shining 


	7. The Balance

The Balance  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: The itch has not left . . . nor has it resolved. What else is new?   
Alternate reality, crossover, continuing chaos. I'm going to start stirring things   
up a bit—I might try a few new things next time.)  
  
"Finished. Finished?" Faye skirted around the edges of the prop room scanning   
and rescanning the organized piles. "I'm done?" The eager actress turned and   
saw Utena leaning in the doorway, smiling with mystical patience while shaking   
her head slightly.  
  
"You're done, thanks Faye." Utena laughed.  
  
"Don't know how I forgot about that rule saying you must check in all of your   
equipment before leaving after the last show . . ." Faye muttered to herself as   
she ran from her temporary prison. Still, she could hardly believe that the time   
had come for the last rule to even be enforced. "Never Too Close" had been her   
debut performance, and while she seemed quite overshadowed by the other cast,   
Faye was content to have been noticed by the Times' reporter who was waiting   
for her in the lobby.   
  
Waiting with her rooster-head brother.  
  
"Hang on, Shin! I'm coming!" Faye hurried with a desperate concern, taking   
the stairs two at a time.  
  
But she only came to gloat   
It stuck right there in my throat   
  
Unfinished business. Ruka allowed the woman lean in as she chuckled at his   
story. Standing just behind her shoulder, Spike raised his eyebrows and caught   
Ruka's glance with silent communication honed by years of teamwork on the   
stage.   
  
The hidden message: What the heck?  
  
The evening was wearing thin, with the earliest hours of the following day   
swiftly approaching. Just in time, Spike had unveiled a second round of hors   
d'oeuvres and Faye burst into the main room of Spike's apartment—citing   
"misleading directions" as her excuse. Shin ran his fingers through his hair,   
looking amused and letting Faye tell her story of the life-or-death struggle they   
went through finding the elusive complex.  
  
It was a fairly lively gathering, the entire cast, crew, and a significant number of   
friends and family were present. Kenshin had been the first to leave, showing   
up with Kaoru and complete kindergarten in tow . . . then leaving just as   
quickly—most likely to put the kindergarten to bed.  
  
Ruka had started the evening in a small swarm of fans—intellectuals who came   
to the Road Rage religiously and had established themselves as investors. One   
by one, they had wandered to other circles of conversation, until Ruka had found   
himself interestingly enough—left talking to the one person he'd wanted to   
confront since the pieces of his puzzle had begun to fit together.  
  
One by one, Shiori had whittled the company down until she had Ruka to   
herself. They'd maintained a surprising level of casual conversation, even   
though the actor had begun to feel a deliberate irritation building in the skull just   
behind his ears.  
  
Ruka signaled his confidence to Spike, and looked down at the slender girl in   
her surprisingly alien, casual clothes. Her hair tied back in two harmless   
looking pig-tails. Balancing the glass between her fingers, that alone betraying   
her clumsiness—although, that too seemed more innocent than a lack in culture.   
  
"It's sure different than the college parties . . ." Shiori said, glancing around,   
surveying the crowd. "It's almost midnight and everyone is still on their feet, or   
sitting consciously . . ."  
  
"Did you act in college?" Ruka asked, asking out polite conversation.   
  
"No," Shiori smiled, "But I dated a lot of actors." She tipped her glass to her   
lips, where it knocked against her teeth while she again turned her head away.   
The girl recovered with a small sip, and continued, "They were all rather second   
rate. Compared to you . . . to the Road Rage, of course."  
  
Ruka felt the strain between them, "It's very different than high school as well."  
  
"Oh, please!" Shiori laughed almost musically, "That was so long ago, I can   
barely remember . . ."  
  
"You were rather involved then too, if I remember correctly." Ruka added   
lightly, his tone only revealing a glib reminiscence.  
  
"I found . . . inspiration . . . in high school. That's for sure." Shiori smiled,   
leaning in again. "But I've grown so far beyond that. My interests have moved   
on to other things . . . now I *am* acting!"  
  
Ruka stood his ground, letting Shiori tap his arm with each of her free fingers—  
wondering.  
  
How she loved to turn the screw   
And leave you feel indebted to her fantasies and views   
  
Juri turned away and walked over to Sano who was re-enacting something for   
Misao and her friends. The young girl laughed loudly, no emotion bridled with   
her characteristic honesty. Juri wrestled a moment before saying, "It's refreshing   
to hear someone enjoying herself."  
  
Misao started, musing over the comment and after deciding it was   
complimentary, spoke up enthusiastically, "Why not? I mean, look where I am?   
I'm with the cast of the Road Rage . . . and I've only been admiring you all my   
life. I've lived here forever, in the city, y'know." Her recently-changed-green   
eyes shimmered with affection and pleasure.   
  
"The *cast* of the Road Rage?" Sano said, sounding hurt and acting pathetic in   
order to regain her attention, "I thought you were just here because of me?"   
Pointing at his nose.  
  
"You're okay." Misao added flippantly. Juri wondered at the cruelty of   
children, but saw mutual understanding between them.  
  
That moment, glancing back, she met Shiori's eyes. But the girl turned coolly,   
and re-doubled her focus on Ruka.  
  
Juri watched the leaning. The way their hair fell forward to hide their eyes, and   
as her spider web fingers laced around Ruka's arm. Torn between feeling   
protective and jealous, Juri wondered which she felt for whom.  
  
So surprised you saw it through   
Couldn't help but notice   
  
Faye couldn't remember when she had felt happier. There was something   
frightening about the way she simply had to turn and Shin was there. Almost as   
constant a presence as her brother, and Shin's definition of wrestling was   
significantly more interesting .  
  
Earlier, she had noticed that she seemed too desperate and clingy—pulling Shin   
around and showing him off to everyone. Faye had enough sense to realize after   
a few raised eyebrows that her joy might seem unhealthy—so when Spike had   
given her a funny face, she'd immediately un-glomped from Shin's arm. That's   
when she noticed with no-small comfort that Shin still followed her,   
undistracted by the other guests who recognized him and called his name.  
  
"This is Julia," Faye waved her hand, palm out. "Julia, this is Alexander Ed . .   
."  
  
"Shin," Julia smiled warmly, the world began to glow with a warm light. Faye   
felt a bit of irritated heat tight between her shoulder blades. "You've grown so   
much . . ."  
  
"Hey, Jules," Shin flushed, "You don't have to treat me like such a kid   
anymore."  
  
"We were neighbors, growing up." Julia turned back to Faye.  
  
"Right," Faye said, not convinced that everything was platonic. "Now, moving   
on! Next." Faye turned quickly, a bit startled by her own reaction, hoping   
against hope that the past wouldn't come only to ruin her present.  
  
Unexpectedly, she felt Shin slip his hand into hers. Squeezing back, Faye   
glanced up appreciatively as they matched each other's pace moving between the   
crowds, "I . . . I, uh, . . ."  
  
"Don't worry about it." Shin shrugged, "I mean that, you don't have to worry."   
He glanced over at Saitou and Spike, then over at Ruka. "But, Faye, it's not like   
we've had a lot of time together to totally exclude the possibility that perhaps . .   
."  
  
Faye laughed, "Hey, don't you worry about *them*!" She pulled his chin back   
towards her. "I'm not interested in them ever—pompous pigs, all of them!" She   
suddenly laughed, "And you'd better not be interested in them either!"  
  
She breathed more assuredly, but as she turned from Ruka she noticed his   
attentive companion and paused. "That's queer." Faye puzzled, watching Shiori   
monopolize the man's space and time.  
  
"Um," Shin wasn't following her.  
  
"Peculiar cast dynamics." Faye whispered. "She knows that Ruka's definitely   
smitten with Juri . . . but yet . . ." Shin accommodated her silence with his own   
attempted concentration, but he kept being drawn to the way that her eyebrows   
pulled together while she was serious. "Well, it's interesting, anyway." Faye   
beamed, "But I don't know if I'm going to worry about that either. Perhaps   
tomorrow."   
  
You'd covered all means of escape   
Found the other people's parties second rate   
  
All evening, Ruka played the role. Letting Shiori tell him stories about how   
she'd auditioned at the Emperial Theater, the Glass House and turned down an   
extra role in a production of Sunset Boulevard so she could take a better role in   
"Never Too Close."   
  
"I've always fancied newer work," Shiori had set herself on the couch, quite   
close to Ruka, and held her hand with the glass in front of him whenever she   
spoke—as if it were a carrot. "Mr. Himura might have a few more good pieces   
in him—but I'd like to try my hand at writing something myself. I always   
fancied I'd like to work from the other side of things."  
  
Ruka nodded, appearing quite interested. All the while, he couldn't help but feel   
watched. Spike passed by every once and a while, always on his way to hover   
nearer Julia—but offering a silent escape. And Juri. Juri was aware.  
  
He laughed politely, letting Shiori rest her hand on his—curious how far the girl   
was wanting to take her ambitions. And wondering how he might use it to his   
advantage.  
  
"If it wasn't for you, Ruka darling."  
  
"Excuse me?" Ruka said, with a bit of surprise, curious.  
  
"If it wasn't for you, things wouldn't be nearly as fun." Shiori finished, raising   
her arms and using them to help propel herself up from the soft cushions. She   
offered him her arm, eyes twinkling.  
  
"I could say the same." Ruka teased, stepping close. So close, Shiori lifted her   
eyes slowly, tilting her head back so she could see his taller features. "You play   
me so beautifully, Shiori. Time and again." He took her hands into his own, the   
glass tipping dangerously and the remaining liquid circling the edge of the rim.   
"I was hoping you could answer a question for me. Solve something that's   
troubled me for a while . . ."  
  
"Yes?" Shiori breathed, twisting her wrists but only coming closer.  
  
"Why is it that we always settle for second best?"   
  
"Damn," Shiori turned passive, her eyes flashing with bitter passion.  
  
"I'll tell you." Ruka added, his touch almost friendly, understanding, without   
losing his grip on her. "It's so we can get one more step closer . . . toward the   
ideal . . ."  
  
Shiori snapped, "Are you going to take me home?"  
  
It ain't easy   
It ain't easy   
It ain't easy   
  
"Excuse me."  
  
"No one can hear you, darling."  
  
"Want me to try?"  
  
"As if, Faye." Spike stepped up on top of his coffee table, pushing a few empty   
plates to the side so he wouldn't step on them, "Alright everyone. Look up here   
at the actor."  
  
"Does that mean I should get up there?" Sano shouted back from across the   
room.  
  
"Did I say rooster?" Spike slouched over, seeming terribly not amused that the   
remaining guests were laughing at Sano's joke. Placing his hands on either hip,   
Spike continued, "Small speech from the host. Thank you all for coming. I   
know that we all look forward to Catherine's catering services." A substantial   
applause drowned out Spike's following comment, which he repeated with a   
touch more aggravation. "She said she has business cards at the main table if   
anyone is interested. Anyway, there are two more bits of business to bring to   
your attention." He scanned the thinned audience. "Hey, where's Ruka?"  
  
Spike turned, but couldn't find his friend anywhere. He couldn't see Shiori   
either for that matter, and he was confident that they'd been together most of the   
evening. And neither was with Juri at that moment, who stood almost by   
herself, next to Julia.  
  
He smiled, "Make that one bit of business rather." He motioned with his hand,   
and no one seemed terribly surprised to see the lithe blonde actress move toward   
him.  
  
"Don't tell me she said 'yes'?" Sano whined above the growing chuckles from   
everyone.  
  
"She said 'yes'." Julia confirmed her words, by pulling Spike down by his collar   
and giving him a ferocious kiss.  
  
"That's unhealthy!" Sano continued to whine, but pushing through the others,   
congratulated them with a broad grin. "It's all because of that conversation with   
Saitou isn't it?"  
  
"I had nothing to do with this." Saitou said gruffly, stepping up to study Julia   
with narrowed eyes. "I never would have suspected you'd give in . . ."  
  
"Thanks, old man." Julia teased with her sophisticated manner, trying to hold   
Spike up even as she held his arm.  
  
"He's collapsing." Saitou noticed, casually.  
  
"I've got him." Julia reassured, "And you can expect to see me back at auditions   
next cast call."  
  
Saitou's lips pulled back into a smile-sneer, "It's about time." He took a step   
back, before pausing to add, "At least something good will come from all of this   
. . ."  
  
Faye rested her head on Shin's shoulder, "That's real sweet." She yawned.  
  
"Ready to go?" Shin asked.  
  
"Yes, sir." Faye walked rather dizzily and appreciated Shin's efforts to find her   
coat from the remaining pile in the back bedroom. "Thanks." She said, pulling   
her hair out from where the hood settled against her shoulders. "Shin, did you   
notice?"  
  
"Notice?" Shin asked, holding the door open. "How we never heard the second   
news?" He said more softly as she walked past.  
  
"Right, I wonder what Ruka had planned."  
  
Reduced a listener to a tear   
Forgetting what had brought him here   
Undoing everything he'd known   
Left him wake up in the morning on his own   
  
"It's not that far, we'll keep in touch." Julia reassured, holding her coat tight   
around her. The chilly April breeze still reminded them enough of winter.   
  
"She might, but you know how I am." Spike smiled, cautiously. Helping lift   
bags from the trunk and put them within Ruka's reach. "Did you tell anyone?"  
  
"Wondered how long it would take you to ask," Ruka let a heavy breath slip   
past his lips, imitating laughter. "Saitou knows. Knows enough that I'm not   
leaving the Road Rage so much as trying to sort out something else."  
  
"They will be able to help you there, right?" Julia asked, tilting her head and   
putting her body closer to Spike's. Her blonde hair fanning around her neck.  
  
"It's a rather new series of medical procedures, but these doctors are supposed to   
be the best. Between them all, I should get a proper diagnosis at least." Ruka   
added affectionately, "I might even end up okay, come back with a renewed   
vigor and take over the stage."  
  
"I don't know what we'll do without you." Spike tucked his hands in his   
pockets. "Need any help hauling this stuff?"  
  
"It's not that far." Ruka glanced back toward the airport. "Could you . . . could   
you keep this all low profile? I'd rather Juri not worry about me . . . or begin to   
wonder too much what might have been . . ."  
  
"Don't you worry either!" Julia said sadly. "We just wish she was here with   
you, of course."  
  
"It's too late for that." Ruka said, more brightly and with resigned acceptance.   
"I'd lost my chance with her." He shared an understanding look with Spike.  
  
"We'll make sure . . . you don't have to worry about . . . her." Spike tried to be   
discrete.  
  
"Juri will be fine." Ruka said mostly for his own reassurance. "But, if she needs   
me, still, let me know as soon as possible."  
  
Then, Ruka hefted his luggage, letting it slip into a more secure hold in his   
gloved hands, and turned to cross the walkway and the front door traffic into the   
airport.  
  
"He's going to be hard to replace. I bet Saitou was livid." Spike said, passing   
around his car to open the driver's side door.  
  
Sitting on the opposite side, Julia touched her engagement ring, turning it and   
mused, "Do you know what he did with her's? He never asked did he?"  
  
"We must have been stupid when Ruka and I dreamed up our scheme. But so   
much happened since then, that I'm sure he never felt he could. Just ended up I   
was the lucky one." Spike concentrated on his driving, and Julia gave him a   
thoughtful glance.  
  
It's how you leave no time to breathe   
It's how you leave no time to breathe   
  
Juri sat on her couch and stared at the orange artwork, trying to remember the   
feeling she had when she'd created it. Trying to remember what it felt like to   
make something beautiful without worrying about the outcome—or how others   
were going to receive it. Trusting.  
  
What had Ruka been going to say? Was he going to announce that he was   
leaving? The sad news counterbalanced by Spike and Julia's engagement?   
  
The cd stopped playing. She glanced at the empty cup of tea, the book that had   
been sitting on the end table—the bookmark still in the same place it had   
stopped three months ago. Before "Never Too Close" had really started. The   
book that she and Ruka were going to finish together.  
  
Not that it mattered. He was the one who'd left. And he'd left the party early,   
with Shiori.   
  
She wondered about that. How, suddenly, unexpectedly—Ruka had taken an   
interest in the young girl. And how Shiori had responded in turn. Of all people.   
Them, together. As if she had no part in the decision at all.  
  
"It's amazing how strong you are through this . . ."  
  
Juri had set the phone down, just barely able to hear Julia's voice, but no longer   
obligated to listen to the words. Her eyes, wandering, almost focused on the   
moments in her past she felt incredibly out of control . . . doubtful of her   
strength.  
  
"Thank you." Juri said into the now silent phone, setting it back on it's resting   
place.  
  
She picked up the book. Determined that she would be able to finish it on her   
own. Automatically turning to the marked pages, brushing her fingers over the   
words there.  
  
"And now you're gone." She said aloud, flipping one page and intent on reading   
what came next. "I'm forgetting, Ruka. Wasn't there something I meant to ask   
you . . . ?"  
  
When the phone rang next, she let it go unanswered. Continuing to turn pages   
forward.  
  
All is not all that it seems   
Thought the rest was just a breeze   
Till you remind me of my inadequacies   
  
"Pick up, damn it." Shiori frowned, dropping the phone as she gave up and   
kicking at various items scattered around her room. Her apartment, like her very   
life, seemed to be tumbling into chaos in spite of her hopes and intentions. But   
what they had been, she couldn't remember.  
  
Juri. She could almost refocus when she thought of Juri. But, even that had   
been taken away from her. The plan to regain a little of his attention through   
rage or jealousy. Shiori was so certain that something vibrant was between   
Ruka and Juri, so why hadn't she been able to spin things her way? Then all had   
gone rather well with the actor and Shiori could almost remember how he had   
made her feel years ago. She was certain that it was Ruka. Somehow, he'd been   
using everything to bring Juri his direction. He must have . . . but his intentions   
were still masked . . . and failed.  
  
No matter the plans he'd spoiled. He was gone.   
  
Juri. She could almost refocus when she thought of Juri.  
  
And acting. There was always acting. Adlibbing, until whatever she wanted   
would come clear.  
  
It's infantile,   
it's in your smile,   
here's my sign you'll soon be mine   
  
It's infantile,   
it's in your smile,   
here's my sign you'll soon be mine   
  
It's infantile,   
it's in your smile,   
here's my sign you'll soon be mine 


	8. Nice to be Here

Nice to be Here   
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Funny what the muses will send you. This is about an alternate   
reality in which several characters from a few different anime series actually live   
together and work together. You'll recognize characters from Utena, Ruoroni   
Kenshin, Cowboy Bebop and a few new faces from Gundam Wing this time   
around. Inspirational lyrics provided by the lovely Catatonia, again. This time   
with their aptly named song "Sweet Catatonia." What does that leave me? Not   
much, but as I mentioned, it's fun.)  
  
  
It was a perfectly composed conversation. A give and take of sharp, wise, often   
biting remarks—both sides scoring irreconcilable points. Observations.   
Accusations. A volley of witticisms. Their favorite playing field—their best   
skill, and what was familiar.   
  
And then the question. She wants to ask.  
  
But does he answer? What could he answer? How would he explain? Juri's   
perseption ended, she couldn't decide what Ruka would say at that point. His   
face immobile, soft lines around his eyes—either affection or pity? Which was   
it?   
  
As she deliberated, no answers could be known. She watched another sleepless   
hour pass by.  
  
Chance dreams   
that cut across the bed,   
leaving colours there instead   
  
"Did you hear about auditions?" Faye whispered to her quiet companion. Juri   
was leaning against the foyer wall, close to where Faye was perched on the front   
desk—perusing through a random sampling of the new script.  
  
"What this time?" Juri said, quietly, not really interested in anything. She was   
waiting for Utena to come and issue out stage crew responsibilities. Requesting   
to be left out of the acting responsibilities for the summer shorts and not   
committing to the fall production either—Juri'd redirected her theater   
commitment and responsibilities.   
  
"They're open—more so than usual." Faye leaned over her gangly crossed legs   
and managed to somehow scoop a wayward sheet from it's mid-flight slip onto   
the floor. "The Glass House split and a few of their seasoned cast members are   
dispersing to other theaters in the area. Something about an internal controversy   
about the spirit of true theater."  
  
"Oh dear," Juri said, feigning interest. "More selfish actors."  
  
"Hey, I resemble that remark." Faye grinned widely, "But seriously, I'm not the   
best and with more . . . fresh competition. It's just not fair, now that I've worked   
my foot in the door and everything! Why now?"  
  
Sauntering in the front door, Faye's younger brother remarked, "Don't make   
excuses, Faye. We all know you're an opportunist. Just make sure to impress   
Hajime."  
  
"Don't use Saitou's first name!" Faye grumbled, shocked at Sano's partial   
support. "It makes you sound so . . . familiar."  
  
"Well, things are much better between us than they were. He's finally realizing   
what a swell and talented guy I am." Sano chewed his toothpick confidently,   
only his hands stuffed deep into his pockets betrayed his insecurity on the   
subject. Sano was cocky and confident, except when it came to proving himself   
to Saitou. And whenever Sano respected a person that much, he became a little   
embittered to that individual as well.  
  
"Speaking of the wolfish director, where is he?" Faye slapped the pages of text   
against her knee.  
  
"What time is it?" Sano glanced at his bare wrists.  
  
"Past time for Utena to be here as well . . ." Juri entered the sibling's   
conversation. "With the summer shorts, things are usually so chaotic Utena's   
hands are well full. She wanted me to be here early . . ." Her voice trailed off as   
they saw shadows approaching the front door.  
  
Three shadows, as Utena entered first, the door pulled open for her by Saitou.   
Closely behind the tomboyish stage manager followed someone the others had   
not met before. Arguably better dressed than the Road Rage's fashionable   
scribe, Kenshin Himura, the lean man was obviously just as intelligent. His eyes   
quickly assessing and evaluation his surroundings. Settling his hands on either   
hip, the stranger spoke over his shoulder to Saitou who smiled at the comment.   
"It's a shame I waited so long to come over to the Road Rage. This   
establishment has class, Jime."  
  
"Coming from you, that's quite a compliment." Saitou stepped forward leading   
the newcomer toward those already there. "This is Juri Arisugawa, Faye   
Valentine, and the moron over there with the outrageous hair is Faye's kid   
brother, Sanosuke Sagara."  
  
Before Sano could decide whether to hide or respond in kind, the new fellow ran   
a conscious hand through his own reddish-brown mop cut longer around his   
face. "I can understand that."  
  
"Gang, this is Mr. Trowa Barton . . ." Saitou spoke fondly, "I've finally   
persuaded him to give the Road Rage a shot—and I think he'll fill our current   
void rather well."  
  
"Your offer was timely," Trowa turned his face away from the praise, "The   
Glass House is a mess, I needed to get away."  
  
Faye watched him carefully, noting that Trowa Barton didn't say more than   
necessary, softening praise and making an effort to build comfort for the   
established Road Rage actors. Still, everything he said seemed to carry great   
meaning beneath it. His seldom seen smile seemed bashful, almost reminding   
her of their recently disappeared Ruka. She glanced over at Juri, wondering if   
she'd sensed the similarities, but Juri was more or less neglecting Saitou's newest   
recruit. The auburn haired actress watching her feet, crossed at the ankles,   
apparently still waiting for Utena to tell her what she needed to do.  
  
See lines that draw it   
to an end--ignore them   
  
Not long after Saitou and Utena brought in Mr. Barton—several hopefuls came   
to enter the auditions for the summer shorts. Saitou reserved the right to double   
cast some actors . . . but the possibilities of landing a substantially important role   
in one of many smaller acts brought in both seasoned, familiar actors and young   
hopefuls. The split of the Glass House only increased the volume.  
  
Sanosuke finished first, his strategy consistently to volunteer to go first and   
earliest. The young actor had substantial importance in his first play and his   
ambition combined with ability earned him a leading role in the spring   
production. Knowing delay only made him sloppy, Sano poured himself into   
the first reading and evaluation reading through a scene with his sister.   
  
"Not bad, Sagara." Saitou said in his normal, non-committed tone.   
  
Sano faked his pleased expression, hiding his worry. He felt as if some of his   
best performances came from learning how to deal with the strict director.   
Walking down the centrer aisle, and trying not to listen too closely to Saitou's   
comments to his sister, Sano spotted Spike Spiegel hovering in the doorway that   
divided the main auditorium from the foyer.   
  
Spike grinned, "Great job there kiddo. Heard it was you and watched from   
here."  
  
"Thanks," Sano grinned, beginning to regain his intrinsic confidence. "Quite a   
few folks showed up for this one."  
  
"With the G House's shaky foundation, I'm guessing that we're getting their   
overflow. I spotted Trowa Barton chatting with Utena. I didn't know they were   
friends. He's low-profile but has a rather spotless reputation. Curious he's here .   
. ."  
  
"I think he's pals with Saitou, actually." Sano shrugged. "Saitou wasn't too   
pleased that Ruka bailed out on us. Did we ever find out what business whisked   
away our reliable Ruka?"  
  
Spike pulled the toothpick from his mouth and examined it a moment, "He was   
rather clammed up about saying why he had to leave. But Ruka's always   
secretive like that. Doesn't mean he isn't coming back, kiddo." Spike began   
flipped the toothpick into a nearby garbage container. "So I wouldn't get too   
confident."  
  
"Me?" Sano guffawed, "Never!"  
  
"Excuse me, gentlemen."   
  
Stepping between them, a woman with a confident step surveyed the auditorium.   
Scanning the scene just above her tipped sunglasses. Seeming satisfied, she   
pulled the frames off with a solid click closing them and putting them into her   
handbag. "Perhaps you can point him out, I need to speak with the director."  
  
Sano, amused by her self-assurance, pointed to where Saitou was now standing   
with his arms crossed sternly over his characteristic black t-shirt.   
  
"Of course," the woman arched one eyebrow, "Rather quaint place, isn't it?"   
She smiled broadly to both of them and proceeded to make her way toward   
Saitou.  
  
"What the . . ." Sano breathed, appreciating the woman's innocent seeming   
sundress and the way it accented her self-possessed gait. "Interesting."  
  
Spike shook his head, amused and making no comment.  
  
And if I say   
how I feel again,   
is it wise to do it?   
Or like hearing   
for the umpteenth time,   
some despise   
  
In record time, Saitou announced casting for the summer shorts. Shiori studied   
the post, scribbling down not only her own two roles but also the names of those   
who had been given the parts she'd particularly wanted herself. Julia. Julia.   
Julia. Dorothy.  
  
Shiori's pen pressed deep into the paper. She had expected better.   
  
"My my my." A silky voice broke through Shiori's dark thoughts. "If I didn't do   
well."  
  
Shiori turned, glancing up and down to appreciate the figure of the woman next   
to her. She became very much aware of her own casual and semi-rumpled   
appearance. This actress daintily noted her parts, brushing back her pale blonde   
hair with her left hand. The pen still balanced between her fingers. The new   
arrival glanced at Shiori, apparently noticing that she was being evaluated. The   
woman's smile crossed elegant features.   
  
"I'm Dorothy Catalonia. Please to meet you, I'm sure."   
  
"New to the Road Rage?" Shiori asked, turning back to stare at the postings, not   
reading the names.  
  
"Oh, have you performed here before? Fancy that." Dorothy never stopped   
looking at the girl. "Well, you did get a couple roles didn't you? Pity," Dorothy   
paused. "We don't have any together. But it seems that Trowa and I will have   
enough to do. We both are, well you could say, artistic *refugees* from the   
Glass House. The young director there has no direction. One should throw   
stones in a glass house." Dorothy laughed lyrically, but her voice carried an   
unfamiliar tone of humor. Dorothy Catalonia was undeniably powerful;   
however, Shiori began to feel as if she were being toyed with.   
  
"Dorothy?" Another new face appeared, this time a more ruddy looking man.   
His short hair wired into dark, tight curls, carefully cut side burns accented his   
cheeks. "So you've joined the exodus?"  
  
"Oh course, Nichol." Dorothy laughed again, identical to the first Shiori had   
heard. "You know how I like to have my way—or none at all."  
  
"Something we undoubtably have in common," The man called Nichol smiled,   
apparently familiar with Dorothy's dominating style of interaction. They both   
overlooked Shiori, who simply watched.  
  
"Damn, Barton's here as well. I didn't see him at auditions." Nichol's lip curled.  
  
"I do believe that he's on good terms with the director." Dorothy observed,   
lifting her chin, still speaking as if she were playing a role, rather than revealing   
herself. "Thereby, no-audition-necessary. If you know what I mean."  
  
"All too well." Nichol said after a moment's silence. "But it looks like we'll be   
well used. It seems that Barton hasn't tainted this new director against me."   
Nichol pointed to the list. "Spiegel? Isn't he the chap who starred in 'Post   
Script'? The joy of acting with talent at last." Dorothy nodded, her lips pressed   
into a smile.   
  
Shiori finally stepped away. Certain that a new battle was brewing in the Road   
Rage. Neither of them had asked her name, but she was used to that.   
  
She'd just make certain that, like certain others who underestimated her, they   
never forgot it.  
  
Don't you fall asleep   
there's lots of things   
I need to say   
that just won't keep   
  
Juri was proving to be her most reliable assistant, but Utena watched her closely   
anyway. Unlike the others who ignored the symptoms or simply assumed they   
were long over, Utena was certain that Juri was still unresolved. The tension   
between the actress and Ruka during the spring had been obvious to all. But not   
all had noticed the unwanted tension between the two familiar cast members and   
one of the newest recruits. And the sudden distance Shiori had put between   
herself and Juri only convinced Utena all the more. Utena simply waited for   
when she would be needed, but the continued careful quietness of the suffering   
woman worried Utena.  
  
In the meantime, Utena found a strange new interest to make her work at the   
Road Rage all the more enjoyable.   
  
Trowa Barton.   
  
She'd been quite surprised and pleased to cross paths with the actor again when   
Saitou had been bringing Trowa to the theater for the first time. Utena was   
familiar with his work from having been the assistant stage manager at the Glass   
House for one season before taking the permanent position at the Road Rage.   
They'd seldom spoke, but she'd always admired the quiet yet attentive ability   
that Trowa had about him.  
  
Prowling the halls of the theater, Utena was searching for Saitou to ask him   
when to call in Mikage Souji for set and light directing. Finding her own   
patience pressed by the missing director, she found it renewed when she crossed   
paths with Spike and Julia who were becoming at that moment quite chummy   
with Trowa himself.  
  
"Hello everybody," Utena waved adopting her smile of universal affection and   
good cheer. "Haven't seen Mr. Saitou have you?"  
  
"I think he's trying to round up and send off those who auditioned and are   
appealing their absences from any of the casting." Spike said with a mixture of   
sympathy and amusement in his voice.   
  
"It was a very busy auditioning. I don't know if Saitou's ever considered so   
many people before." Julia added, her arms comfortably linked through Spike's.   
"But he's a fair and honest judge of ability. It probably made things a bit more   
fair since we had openings for both Ruka and Juri."  
  
"Right." Utena asked, then without a bit of subterfuge, added, "I'm a bit worried   
that Juri didn't audition actually. She did seem genuinely interested in taking a   
chance to help back stage, but with everything that happened . . . I don't know if   
her choice was made in that same spirit. She doesn't seem happy." She glanced   
at Trowa, who listened with an interested but uncertain knowledge of the   
situation.   
  
"Perhaps we should make an effort to . . . something. What do you think,   
darling?" Julia glanced up at Spike, her words carefully chosen.  
  
"We'll keep an eye on her." Spike nodded, "We've known her too long to let her   
feel abandoned by the Road Rage."  
  
"Abandoned . . ." While no one acknowledged Trowa's casual muttering at the   
time, Utena thought of it long afterwards, and wondered.  
  
Sweet sweet sweet sweet catatonia,   
I should have told you (ah ah)   
Sweet sweet sweet sweet catatonia,   
I should have told you (ah ah)   
  
"I can hardly believe it." Faye's voice fluctuated between joy and reservation.   
"I'm stage crew, then I get to act . . . finally. And now . . . and now . . . I'm   
assistant director? What the heck?"  
  
Shin chewed his food without comment, enjoying how each emotion crossed   
Faye's face so quickly then was replaced by a new and different feeling.  
  
"I know there are so many summer shorts that he would be spread to thin to   
work with every rehersal . . . but still! This isn't what I had in mind. I didn't   
even get one acting role. Which he said was so I could focus on learning what   
he expected from me as a director but . . . I have too much *passion* to bottle it   
up and stand behind the scenes again . . ." Faye continued to speak her mind,   
letting joy and sorrow become confused as she remained uncertain how to react   
to the startling revelation.  
  
Alexander Edinburgh, better known as Shin, had been out on assignment for just   
over a week and was enjoying his reunion with his steady companion. He'd   
missed her enthusiastic conversation while he'd been puzzling over what angle   
to take on a corporate merger in a distant city. Somehow her complications   
made his life seem more simple—and satisfying.  
  
"Have I told you how marvelous it is to have you back, Shin? I just couldn't   
stand thinking about all of this in my own head. Your opinion means so much   
to me." Faye calmed herself to smile rather bashfully, looking down to the right,   
watching her fingers hold the fork that still hovered over her untouched food.  
  
Shin smiled, still saying nothing.  
  
And with my fears   
In the back of my mind,   
will they gang up on me?   
And when I least expect them to   
they'll devour me  
  
"How is Juri?" Ruka's voice sounded strong on the telephone, but Spike knew   
him well enough not to take that as a certain sign of his recovery. The question   
made so quickly gave Spike some insight as to his friend's true priorities.  
  
"She's been the best assistant Utena's ever had—according to our over-worked   
and under-appreciated stage manager." Spike reassured, leaving the unasked   
questions unanswered. Spike didn't know if he could answer them with all   
honesty. The seasoned friendship they shared granted Spike considerable   
information as to Ruka's unveiled situation, and Spike genuinely worried that if   
Ruka did not leave the Road Rage behind, he would let his illness consume him.   
"You just concentrate on getting better, hear me?" Spike added with a friendly   
threat for good measure.  
  
"They've got me in some incredibly observation process—I don't understand the   
half of it. But it's thorough. Very extensive."   
  
"But no certain diagnosis . . ." Spike supplied.  
  
"Not yet. I suppose my seat at the Road Rage has cooled considerably in my   
absense. Summer shorts and all." Ruka laughed.  
  
"Saitou brought of a friend of his actually. Fellow named Trowa Barton, and   
he's alright enough. The Glass House quarrel finally led to a division and we've   
collected a few of those who left. Don't know if Barton left . . . but he was   
clearly invited."  
  
"I remember Barton." Ruka said, "Reliable."  
  
"I think that's the word we used most often for you." Spike breathed lightly. In   
the background, he could hear a woman comment to Mr. Tsuchiya that he was   
needed for conference and further testing.  
  
"Sure, Kiki, just a moment." Ruka redirected his comment into the phone,   
"Later, Spike-o. Give Julia my greetings."  
  
"Take it easy." Spike set the phone down and sat quiet for a moment. Still   
wondering if he'd ever be able to answer Ruka's true questions.  
  
Don't you turn aside,   
your tired ears must hear me out   
there's nowhere to hide   
  
They almost passed without a word. But quarters were close for the silence to   
last any longer. Their eyes met and both let their lips part. But the words, while   
coming, were slow.  
  
"Juri."  
  
"Shiori."  
  
"I had hoped you might be acting again." Shiori, once loosed, began to regain   
her posture. "I'm healing and to have you close makes the process sweet."  
  
"Bittersweet." Juri said, "And I'm not sure what need for healing you're   
referring to." She remained quite guarded.  
  
"Come now," Shiori whispered hoarsely, but no less sure of herself. "He   
managed to tear his way through my feelings. I was so confused, Juri. When   
you've been nothing but straightforward and honest. Only asking for time, and   
my patience. I was foolish."   
  
Shiori added the last after a deliberate pause. Juri wondered at the sincerity, but   
was still unready to trust. "You're back on your feet again. That's good." Juri   
conceded.   
  
"Don't twist my words." Shiori said lightly. Somehow, she'd come very close.   
Juri closed her eyes, and suddenly recalled the way that Shiori had leaned,   
leaned possessively toward Ruka. Why that memory?  
  
Shiori continued in Juri's silence, "Yes, close your eyes. But remember, when   
you open them, I'm the one who's still *here*."   
  
The knife's edge of the latest comment cut clean through Juri. Bleeding   
continuously without being given the ability to resolve any of the wounds—old   
or new. Opening her eyes, Juri was still in the hallway. Decidedly alone.  
  
Nothing, however, had changed. And Juri went about her business.  
  
Don't you turn aside,   
your tired ears must hear me out   
(And with my fears   
in the back of my mind,   
will they gang up on me?)   
  
"As much as things change, they do remain the same, wouldn't you agree?"   
  
Trowa glanced down at Dorothy who was seated quite comfortably yet properly   
in the back row of the Road Rage auditorium. "Hello, Dorothy."  
  
"Ah, yes. Hello, Trowa." Dorothy remedied her greeting.   
  
Trowa's jaw worked, then he added, "This is a good place for us. I agree."  
  
For a moment, Dorothy's eyes lost their ever-present sparkle, but her voice still   
reflected authority, "I'm glad you're here. I'm sure you saw that Nichol came as   
well."  
  
"He thrives on rivalry." Trowa observed.  
  
"Makes life interesting, that it does." Dorothy chuckled, but her laughter was   
thoughtful. They remained in silence for a while, taking some comfort.   
Absorbing the new atmosphere until the lights came on with a bright   
announcement of things to come.   
  
Sweet sweet sweet sweet catatonia,   
I should have told you (ah ah)   
  
(And when I least expect them to they'll devour me) 


	9. Are You Sitting Comfortably

Are You Sitting Comfortably  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Sudden burst of energy—here it is, part nine of an ongoing   
alternate reality/crossover. I found more Catatonia lyrics, this time for their   
song "Arabian Derby." Needless to say, I keep sensing inspirational depths in   
their sassy songs. I collected a few characters from Utena, Rurouni Kenshin,   
Cowboy Bebop and Gundam Wing to cast my story.)   
  
"It's certainly a different dynamic, that it is." Kenshin Himura crossed his arms   
and tipping his head back a bit so he could focus better through his dark rimmed   
glasses. The stage was a general cluster of actors, all seeming rather   
directionless which was quite often the case before Saitou stepped in to organize   
their creativity. "Coupling the new group from the Glass House and our loss of   
Ruka . . . it hardly seems like the same theater, that it doesn't."  
  
"Writer's intuition is it?" Saitou scoffed, his arms were crossed as well, pulling   
tight his well defined arms. He scowled at the confusion as well, thereby able to   
single out each actor and calculate exactly what he or she was doing at that   
moment.  
  
"I'd say, more the keen writer's sense of observation." Kenshin bristled, but kept   
his voice cheerful enough. He and Saitou had formed a compromise based on   
the trust they would not interfere directly with the other's particular area of   
artistic interest.  
  
"Time to clean up this disaster." Saitou mumbled to himself, instinctively   
reaching up to where his cigarette was not balanced between his lips. His scowl   
darkened. Saitou didn't care so much about following his own rules as he was   
about enforcing them.  
  
Sanosuke Sagara was trying to gain the attention of Dorothy Catalonia. The   
rooster-head's hair boyishly tousled as usual, but the fellow was physically   
trying to imitate Dorothy's impeccable posture and assimilate her intrinsic sense   
of sophistication. The result mostly resembled a bed-rumpled private being   
called for inspection unexpectedly. "Death of a Salesman?" Sano lifted an   
eyebrow, "Well, I, no, I hadn't realized that this character was inspired by . . ."  
  
"You've heard of it?" Dorothy smiled, appearing amused, but hardly glancing   
up from her script. In the stage lights her hair almost seemed white as it veiled   
her expression from the awkward interests of her companion.  
  
"Kenshin's good." Sano said, starting to sound a tad stubborn—reflecting the   
personality that both he and his sister shared. "Of course he intended to add   
such literary depth to his original shorts."  
  
"Well, it certainly is nice to do something original for a change." Dorothy said,   
apparently allowing for Sano's defense.   
  
"Sagara, find your scene and stick with it." Saitou commanded, passing by the   
two of them while also snapping a finger at Spike and Julia who were speaking a   
bit farther back, heads close. They parted professionally, but shared a chagrined   
look.  
  
Saitou noticed the ripple affect as he simply walked along the stage. Persons   
automatically stepping aside and collecting themselves into their appropriate   
places. However, he was not finding the one person who was supposed to be   
coordinating this disaster. Reluctantly, he stopped his pacing and simply called   
out with an edge to his voice, "FAYE-?"   
  
"I'm here, boss!"   
  
Saitou saw her pushing through the doors to the auditorium. Momentarily   
doubled over as she rested on hand against the door, the other supporting her   
breathing.   
  
"Sorry, sorry, sorry." Faye repeated in a chant like fashion as she half-walked,   
half-skipped to the stage. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." She didn't stop until she was at   
Saitou's side and took one last deep breath. "Sorry." She sounded more like a   
recording than sincere.  
  
"Don't mention it." Saitou ignored her to address the rest of the casting who   
watched Faye's entrance with a great deal of amusement. "Alright. I'd like us   
all to concentrate on unity in both our individual scenes and as a group. We've   
got a few new faces at the Road Rage and I want everyone to transition   
smoothly. Likewise, I want to emphasize that while some of you have many   
parts—and you all might not have a chance to work together—the Summer   
Spotlights," he ignored Sanosuke's wild holler of 'shorts' and continued, "will   
have common threads of characters or theme or setting. I want audiences to feel   
as if they are watching a collage of scenes intentionally developed to be   
understood and enjoyed as a whole.  
  
"Today I'd like to have a comprehensive read through of the scripts so you can   
familiarize yourself with your part in this larger endeavor. Perspective of   
productive is a starting point. After that, consult with Ms. Valentine for   
individual rehearsal schedules. Any questions?" Saitou scanned the faces,   
systematically recognizing each, filing the memory away, and acknowledging   
that he had their attention, "If not, then let's start with scene one . . . everyone   
else, take a seat."  
  
Utena, meanwhile, had appeared from behind the scenes to wave Saitou over.   
"Mikage is rewiring some of the lights, but it shouldn't interfere with your work   
too much, I wouldn't think." Utena added as the actors continued to rearrange   
themselves. "And Catherine confirmed that lunch could be brought in for   
everybody."  
  
"Thanks, Utena." Saitou nodded. The transitions did seem smooth so far. No   
one expressed open hostilities about their casting, although he'd certainly   
detected a few dark looks being passed about between the actors. "Keep an eye   
on things."  
  
"Of course, sir." Utena smiled.   
  
And so the players  
Have changed  
Soon we'll memorize the names  
But somehow something's  
Never quite the same  
  
"Hello, Mikage." Juri was waiting in the back of the auditorium. Utena needed   
some costuming assistance, but so far none of the pre-ordered items had arrived.   
Juri kept constant attention on the theater door watching for their appearance.  
  
"Juri." Mikage nodded. She appreciated the time she'd taken to understand the   
technician. His cryptic, silent attentiveness and unusual, directionless way of   
speaking didn't seem so paradoxical to her anymore. Although, she often   
wondered what might have happened to make him so withdrawn and so   
accurately perceptive. "Trying something different?" He asked vaguely.  
  
"Not really," Juri chose an answer, almost as vague. "It seems like I've stayed   
quite the same while everything shifted around me." Mikage tipped his head,   
giving a low throated agreement while she continued, "How can you change   
when all the choices are taken from you?"  
  
"Matthew." Mikage said. The word that had built their bond.  
  
"Maybe," Juri sighed heavily, "Then again. Perhaps the best thing I could do   
would be to forget."   
  
Mikage glanced up quickly, his interest suddenly kindled and something darkly   
curious lighted his odd eyes. Juri studied him just as keenly, curious herself   
what insight or connection they might have made.   
  
"To forget is to make the memory all the more dangerous." He spoke at last,   
turning from her to walk away but pausing mid-step. Turning his head back to   
her as if to say more, but re-thinking, continued.   
  
Juri watched him go. Intrigued. But patient.  
  
She waited for the delivery for some time before it came.   
  
I never feared the rain  
Until you turned to me  
And said you'd failed again  
It makes a perfect day so lame  
And leads us halfway  
To nowhere...  
  
Shiori balanced herself on the front desk, watching the cast filter their way out   
from day's work. No one paid her much mind. Nearly the last to leave, Utena   
was chatting quite friendly with one of the new actors. He ran one hand full of   
long fingers through his reddish-brown hair, not so much trying to keep it from   
falling forward but to give himself a moment's relief. The way he seemed so   
relaxed and genuine even while detached and distant reminded Shiori that this   
man had to be Trowa Barton . . . not only Ruka's replacement, but his parallel.  
  
Shiori did little to fight the initial dislike that swelled in her throat. She had lost   
little love when Ruka had disappeared. How he had taken her home after the   
party, not only taken her home but left her there. Alone like a wet kitten on the   
curbside, realizing that she'd been essentially removed from where she had   
strength. He'd taken her away from Juri.   
  
But had he known? Had he really known why she was so cruel?  
  
Her rage began to bubble through with a small smile. No matter how furiously   
she might have failed. Ruka had failed as well. But while he had fled. Shiori   
would stay. Nothing gave her as much pleasure as the game.  
  
And Trowa Barton was not Ruka, he had no invested interest in the game. He   
meant very little to her.  
  
With a small wave from his waist, Trowa left Utena and went out from the Road   
Rage. Utena cheerfully headed down the hall toward the props room. Soon   
after, Dorothy and Nichol were passing through the foyer on their way home for   
the evening.  
  
"I like stern direction," Dorothy was saying lightly, but as if her opinion were   
the end of the conversation. "Demonstrates that a man knows exactly what he   
wants and how to get it. Don't you like being stretched, Nichol."  
  
"Dorothy, Dorothy." Nichol seemed to repress a prudish nature with forced   
amusement, "Would you call that stern? The man hardly says a word, but   
pierces you with those narrow eyes. Is that communication?"  
  
"I'd say it was acting . . ." Dorothy responded, tossing her hair over one   
shoulder and giving Nichol a coy glance across her shoulder. "Communicating   
to actors by acting. By the way, do you like anybody, Nichol? Because I would   
say that you . . ."  
  
"It's not a matter of liking. It's a matter of trust. Of trust and truth."  
  
Shiori considered those words as they also left the Road Rage. She mouthed the   
words to herself with no sound. Liking the way they made impact, even if   
Nichol meant little more to her than another convoluted philosopher with an   
arrogant agenda.  
  
And then. Juri.  
  
"Hello." Juri said, politeness cutting off familiarity.  
  
"Waiting for Sanosuke?" Shiori asked. Keeping things simple, for now.  
  
"Yes."   
  
"I wish we could do something together again." Shiori paused, "Like . . . that   
one evening. You were so happy then. I'd like to see you happy again."  
  
"Happy?" Juri tried to scoff, but her voice, at best, sounded lost in thought.   
"When have you ever made me happy?"  
  
Shiori stood, standing awkwardly . . . twisting her arms before her. Lowering   
her head to the side, before adding, "It's not a matter of happiness? Then it is a   
matter of trust. Of trust and truth." Her eyes flashed, and Juri couldn't help   
feeling caught up in their miniature explosions. "Let me know when you're   
ready for the truth."  
  
Blindly, Shiori stumbled out into the city streets.   
  
About a block down, she began to quicken her step toward her own car. Her   
hand holding the key quivering with barely contained satisfaction.  
  
Still we'll stake a claim  
You can count us in again  
  
Cos' everyone's a winner baby  
Hedge your bets  
Get set and maybe  
We could be the first  
To cross the line...  
  
"That's a bad habit you've got there." Faye stepped out the back door of the   
theater into the nearby alley. She pulled a cigarette from her pack, stuffing the   
nearly empty container back into her jacket pocket. She accepted the light Spike   
held out for her trembling fingers.  
  
"Why aren't you smoking in the foyer, Faye?" Spike asked with a crooked grin.   
He was sitting on some empty crates piled on the side of the door opposite from   
the theater's dumpster. The smoke on his breath catching his words and pulling   
them down the narrow space between the buildings.   
  
Faye puffed a bit before answering, "Too stressful." She laughed hoarsely.   
"Saitou'd kill me. He's not even taking biological breaks himself . . . if you get   
my drift."  
  
"We're a bunch of cancer patients waiting to happen, aren't we?" Spike   
chuckled, a healthy regret splintering his joke. "It's getting pretty tense."  
  
"Tell *me* about that, huh?" Faye knocked the ash off of her already   
disappearing smoke. "Actors are a bunch of brats. I called Shiori twice to   
remind her about the nine o'clock rehearsal. The second time, she hadn't even   
moved yet. And don't let me get started on how much that Catalonia woman   
irks me."  
  
"So you've had a close encounter with Dorothy?"   
  
"She's good, damn it." Faye snarled, but wasn't nearly as upset as she sounded.   
"I wish she'd stop acting like it." She automatically dropped her dead addiction,   
and pulled out another cigarette from her packet. "Last one. Might as well give   
myself all the courage I can right now." She saluted Spike with the last of her   
pack and tossed the container into the bin.   
  
"Shin gone again?"  
  
Faye blinked and a semi-pleased smile crossed her previously perplexed   
features, "How—can you tell? Are we so connected already that you can tell   
when . . ."  
  
Spike guffawed, "Hold your ponies there, Faye. Lucky guess." He added   
thoughtfully, "Actually, I figured you wouldn't be at the theater nearly this often   
if he were around to distract you . . ."  
  
"You've got it, buddy." Faye nodded, working the second cigarette almost as   
furiously as the first. She glanced at it disgustedly, "I should really knock off   
this habit." She flicked the butt across the pavement.  
  
"Keep telling yourself that," said Spike. He glanced toward the sky, a narrow   
strip only visible between the tops of the buildings—grey and clouded. "Looks   
like a storm. Back inside?"  
  
"I guess," Faye sighed, "Trading one for the other."  
  
Get up, get set, get ready  
Get high, get low, get even  
Cos' we're living  
In inimitable style  
Chasing the ultimate prize...  
  
The little girl was watching them again. It was all too easy to ignore her shaded   
glances, but Dorothy recognized something darkly brewing in the child. And   
anything that violent kindled a mild interest to occupy a small portion of her   
thoughts.  
  
She spent the rest of her time enjoying the stage. She'd missed the challenge of   
a fresh role, being the actress to define the part, set the pace of possibilities,   
establish the character's first breath. It was quite like the way Dorothy liked to   
approach life. Some of her fellow actors were strong—vocal like Nichol, stable   
like Trowa, enigmatic like Saitou—each holding their own. And then, there was   
the young one.  
  
With an amused narrowing of her eyes, Dorothy remembered first speaking with   
the fledgling at the casting announcement. The girl's sweetly innocent   
aggravation, her childish pout and disgruntled disposition ever since. All were   
devices not unfamiliar to Dorothy herself, but when wielded by a master they   
were simply tools—in the hands of the novice they were richly humorous and   
brashly dangerous.   
  
A portion of the bubbling emotion was directed at the other cast, and it was   
thinly veiled by acting. But Dorothy watched Shiori almost as a hobby to   
introduce herself into the rich underbelly of the Road Rage.  
  
"What do you think of our pet?" Dorothy asked as she sat in the auditorium, her   
posture impeccably perfect even as she turned to address her slouched   
companion.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Nichol said darkly, his dark brows pulled   
together as he scowled at the dialogue for his next scene. He slapped the pages   
with the back of his hand, "I'm always a villain, can't I escape type-casting? I   
have depth . . ."  
  
"Yes dear," Dorothy said in a slick, soothing voice. "It's not so much the type   
of character as it is the depth that you pursue with that character."  
  
"I don't need acting lessons from you." Nichol continued to frown. Then he   
spoke again, "What pet?"  
  
"Well, little Shiori, of course." Dorothy said quickly, as if surprised he hadn't   
remembered.   
  
"I don't feel like adopting." Snickered Nichol, "Especially when pets turn out . .   
. distempered."  
  
"You are narrow minded."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Narrow minded." Dorothy felt no need to elaborate. When she didn't clarify,   
Nichol's features began to glare even more.   
  
"I don't know what you have in mind. The child is obviously infatuated with   
destruction. Have you seen the way that she pines for the stage crew? And the   
way she looks at Trowa with a half puzzled expression, it's queer. Appearing so   
bashful . . . but her words are undeniably tangled." Nichol tried to read but his   
mind was irreversibly preoccupied.  
  
"Isn't it delightful?" Dorothy's smile oozed with each word.   
  
"And she doesn't care for us much." Nichol warned.  
  
His companion laughed cheerily, "All the better." Dorothy paused as the subject   
of their conversation passed by, glancing down at the two briefly before quickly   
and deliberately speeding up to avoid confrontation. "Oh how beautifully done,   
she couldn't bare looking at us at all."   
  
You'd make a fine millionaire  
It's only natural to celebrate  
  
But someone's got to  
Be there to pay  
  
And we never get there...  
  
"He asked about Juri again." Julia settled the phone in it's cradle and put herself   
into Spike's arms. "We haven't done anything for her. Or him for that matter.   
He's not going to be happy alive or dead if we can't tell him that Juri's alright."  
  
"Can you blame him?" Spike pondered, amusing himself with the ends of Julia's   
coppery-gold hair. "Has the clinic come up with anything?"  
  
"Nothing." Sighed Julia, tracing her fingers along Spike's shoulder, closing her   
eyes against the broken parallels. Remember how she could always trust Spike   
to wait for her, patiently and endlessly wanting her—even when she had pulled   
away and he had doubted. But no powers had taken him in the meantime. No   
illness had worked its way into his body. "He mentioned more tests in passing.   
Some new doctors are joining the team. Someone from overseas." She bit her   
lip, "I don't want him to be there anymore. I want him back with us."  
  
"Well, that would be great," Spike began, "But he wouldn't do us a bit of good   
if he stayed getting more and more sickly, would it?" Julia didn't answer.   
  
They stood simply too uncertain what to do next. Spike finding his options too   
dismissive; Julia's too self-critical.   
  
Neither finding words. Both feeling shadows of guilt.  
  
So take some time on our own  
We burn enough alone  
Close but still not fully grown  
Pulling marrow from a bone  
  
"I wouldn't expect to see you here." Juri found herself speaking as he passed by   
her.   
  
"The museum is free on Tuesdays." His voice peacefully surprised. Trowa took   
a step back and leaned over the bench where Juri had scattered her supplies.   
From his vantage point over her shoulder, Trowa commented, "I wouldn't have   
expected to see you drawing . . ."  
  
"It's a hobby I pick up when I need to be alone." Juri brushed the eraser remains   
from the top page of her sketch booklet settled over her crossed legs.   
  
"Interesting." Trowa said, studying the work she'd done so far with a faintly   
impressed nod. "The lines are so sharp and spare."  
  
"I guess I like to keep things simple." Juri said with a sarcastically light laugh.   
  
"And you're inspired by this?" Trowa spread his arms a bit, acknowledging the   
established craft everywhere around them. Mostly rich American pieces and   
thickly detailed sculptures. "I'd have expected to see you upstairs in the modern   
exhibits?"  
  
"They don't have these excellent benches." Juri used one hand to pull her   
belongings closer to give Trowa room and an opportunity to stay. "In addition,   
it feels much warmer here."  
  
"I'm taking it you don't literally mean the temperature?" Trowa chuckled   
lightly, sitting in the space Juri'd allowed, leaning back against the supporting   
pillar and stretching his legs before him at a comfortable angle.   
  
"No," Juri felt at ease to continue her sketch, making clean, deliberate strokes.   
"I didn't mean the temperature." She worked for a few minutes before she   
added, "I once was so intensely needy I made a hideous huge orange scribble. I   
keep it in my living room to remind me that I've been there before. I've felt that   
way." Trowa listened as she continued, "But today, now, I—I'd like to keep a   
bit more control. Do you understand?"  
  
"You're not acting this summer?" Trowa said after a moment.  
  
"No." Juri watched the dark pencil smear as she unintentionally pressed it with   
the side of her hand.  
  
"I see." Trowa folded his arms, "I would have liked to performed with you."   
  
Juri looked up to study his unreadable expression, focused on the opposite   
portrait of a solitary man on an anonymous brown street. She went back to her   
own picture, trying to adjust the image to accommodate the distortion. "I'll act   
again."  
  
But there's no turning back  
So count us in again...  
  
Going back to the old house  
The Marigolds just go to show  
That some of us should  
Never have left home  
  
"C'mon, Utena . . . I know I've sort of been seeing Misao, but we haven't   
promised ourselves to each other or anything. I wouldn't mind if she saw other   
guys, see. So I'm sure that she wouldn't "be terribly disappointed" as you put it   
if you give me Catherine's telephone number." Sanosuke had persistently   
pursued the stylish caterer since they met at Spike's party for the spring show,   
although they hadn't ever been formally introduced. "What if I wanted her to   
host one of my own parties or something? She has to have a business number?"  
  
"Still trying, rooster head?" Spike picked up part of the conversation as he   
walked past, "Don't give in Utena, be strong."  
  
"If Utena doesn't oblige, I'm coming after you next." Sano growled good-  
naturedly at Spike's back and retreating wave.   
  
Utena grinned broadly, amused with the entire situation, "I dunno, Sano. I don't   
think Catherine's the type to like chicken boys."  
  
Sano's jaw dropped open, he swallowed quickly, "Wha-what?"  
  
Utena cast her eyes to the ceiling, then squirmed free from where Sano was   
trying to pin her against the wall, "I'm just saying, you might need to start asking   
the girls *themselves* for this sort of information! Ta ta." And she stepped   
quickly down the hall.   
  
Sano frowned, not quite understanding. He was still rubbing his chin when Juri   
found him moments later.  
  
"Were you looking for me, Sano?" She asked, holding a large art book with one   
arm, the other a container of miscellaneous supplies.   
  
"That's right." Sano triumphantly hit a fist into his other open palm. "That's   
what I meant to ask Utena. Where've you been?" He asked distractedly as they   
began to walk toward the front doors.  
  
"I went to the museum for a bit," Juri explained, shifting the book so it didn't   
press into her arm so awkwardly. "Utena and Mikage didn't need me this   
afternoon."  
  
"I see." Sano nodded, still distracted. "Hey, do you remember the cute gal   
Spike had catering his party? If I were to host a cast party I'd certainly want to   
hire her, was her name Catherine? You don't happen to have her number?" He   
asked most innocently.  
  
Juri shrugged, a playful sparkle in her eyes, "How should I know?" Sano   
slumped noticeably, when Juri added, "Hon, aren't you old enough to ask for   
yourself?"  
  
"Again, the world conspires against me." Sano grumbled, pulling at his shirt   
sleeves.  
  
"You sound more like your sister every day."  
  
But see I'm still counting  
Another flash in the pan  
A quick and instant forming tan  
It seems to grow on me  
Taking inches from a mile  
  
The fine angles of her back pressed against the wall unperturbed. Dorothy   
already wore her sunglasses, preparing to depart into what was left of the   
afternoon sunshine. Still, she waited as Juri and Sano left before her.   
  
Someone was still left.   
  
From the shadows, Shiori slipped forward, intently focused on the two who were   
just ahead. Letting them escape and then taking a quicker step. Her arms at her   
sides, swinging freely enough, but the fingertips curled.  
  
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. This kitten wanted claws. Examining her own   
nails, Dorothy chuckled lyrically.  
  
"What do you want?" The brown haired girl stood in the light penetrating the   
front doors. Peering into the shadows, uncertain who was watching.   
  
"Why, nothing." Dorothy laughed again, sliding past the door and boldly   
opening the barrier to the outside. "I have absolutely everything that I could   
ever want."  
  
But I'm all for throwing  
It on the line... 


	10. Never Comes the Day

Never Comes the Day  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Oh golly, is this really part 10 of my alternate reality crossover   
anime fanfic? It's amazing what will spark your interest . . . even more amazing   
when it actually lingers. Characters from Utena, Rurouni Kenshin, Cowboy   
Bebop and Gundam Wing originally caught my attention, then that developed   
around the splendid lyrics of Catatonia—never mind that they split up, I'm still   
in mourning! In an effort to consol myself, I seem to have challenged myself to   
write a fanfic inspired by each of their songs . . . we'll, uh, see how that goes. In   
the meantime, I found a translation of their song Gyda Gwen to use. This is   
actually a small tangent off the ongoing story—to flesh out a bit of unexplored   
details—or generate more questions, which makes it seem appropriate to use a   
song that needs translation. Argh!)  
  
original Gyda Gwên Lyrics   
Gyda gwên, o glust i glust, fe oedd y cyntaf i basio'r pyst,  
Mi roedd yn hawdd, ond hollol naturiol  
Roedd rhai yn ei alw o'n ffôl, ond doedd ysteried byth yn dal o nol,  
Nid du a gwyn, ond hollol lliwgar  
Ond o, mae'n ddrwg gen i, wnest ti ddim ei weld o.  
A, mae'n chwith gen i, nath o ddim rhagweled o  
I deimlo'i hyn yn noeth, ymlith llif o syniadau doeth,  
Roedd rhaid fo fod, yn unigolyn  
Diddanwch mewn pell del oer  
Yn ei fywyd, di ffrwyth, ddi glôd,  
Mi awn fel hyw, heb unrhyw ysteried  
Ond o, mae'n ddrwg gen i, nis ti ddim ei weld o.  
A, mae'n chwith gen i, nath o ddim rhagweled o.  
  
  
"I swear, this place is haunted." Faye "Valentine" Sagara frowned, casting her   
eyes toward the ceiling nervously as she noticed how the light reflected off her   
keys to dance about the evening's shadows. She tucked her short black hair   
behind each ear, deliberately listening for any sounds apart of the usual. The   
evening's rehearsal had completed over an hour ago, but after shuffling the   
actors home and waiting for Utena to finish with the days work in the costume   
shop—Faye was beginning to regret the power of having a key to the main door   
of the Road Rage. Typically, the stage manager would lock up the theater like a   
fortress, but Faye had to finish scheduling for the next weeks rehearsals. And   
the young woman was much better at procrastinating rather than productivity.   
After cursing Saitou for neglecting her free spirit and supposedly tapping into   
her administrative talents, Faye had finished her work—not wanting to take it   
home with her.  
  
As she locked the front door, intending to slip out the alley exit closest to her   
car, an inexcusable noise echoed from the main auditorium. "What the heck,"   
Faye muttered, tip-toeing to the main doors facing the stage. It was almost like   
footsteps, accompanied by the low murmur of voices. "Hello?" Faye called,   
"I'm locking up." Her presence seemed to halt the noises. "Who's still here?"   
Her grip on the door tightened as she peered into the theater—a few emergency   
exit lights to which she could adjust her vision.  
  
After a few moments silence, which could have been mere seconds but seemed   
to Faye like enough time for anyone to identify themselves, she allowed the door   
to come closed and walked down the side hallway back to the alley exit. She   
shrugged off the discontent of leaving the mysterious noises unsolved, guessing   
that the radiator might have been clicking or that the building was sinking it's   
annual two inches as rumor had it.   
  
She locked the heavy back door and passing through the alley finding the lot   
where her car was waiting. Two spaces down was a small black vehicle, a   
sporty model so new that Faye wasn't certain that she recognized it. On second   
glance, it was noticeably foreign, even the steering wheel was on the opposite   
side. Filtering through her mental check list, Faye rejected the obvious options.   
Saitou was attached to his Intrepid, and Utena would only drive a Honda. Spike   
was still driving his clunky '53 Mustang, spending most of his time searching for   
spare parts. Trowa had his blue Chevy truck and Dorothy would never drive   
anything that wasn't yellow. The list was becoming quite short. Peering into the   
backseat she tried to make out the names on the papers scattered in the backseat.   
Blueprints and extension cords.  
  
Mikage Souji. Faye snapped her finger and grinned with no small triumph.   
Still, in a moment, she was puzzled again.   
  
"What a car. That bloke is full of surprises."  
  
With a smile, from ear to ear, he was first to pass the posts  
It was easy, but completely natural  
Some called him foolish, but thinking never held him back  
Not black or white, but completely colourful  
  
Walking past the display tables of kitchen place mats and glass cases of ceramic   
dragons, Faye leaned her head against Shin's shoulder, her arms intertwined with   
his own—his elbow crooked, his hand balanced in the jeans' pocket. They'd   
been wandering the mall for some time, under the illusion of finding Shin   
another dark leather jacket, but mostly appreciating each other's presence.   
  
"So did you like the variety of a personality piece?" Faye asked, smoothing the   
folds of his shirt.  
  
"It was mostly filler," Shin admitted. "No one is really going to be concerned   
about candidates until we're closer to election season. It's amusing to listen to   
them practice their campaign pitches however." He chuckled lightly, a deep   
vibration that Faye could almost feel. "Especially when they still sound like an   
awful recording—or a telemarketer that can't get away from reading the script."  
  
"Oh, I hate that." Faye agreed, more impressed by how easily they now could   
walk together without jostling hips or stepping on stray feet.   
  
"I'm still trying to convince my editor I should be writing for the entertainment   
page. I think that the Road Rage has more personality than our current   
politicians—at least for the summer." Shin paused to glance into the local   
Gloria Jean's. "Coffee?" He asked.  
  
"I'm feeling lazy," Faye nodded into his shoulder, "That might help. We've got   
a couple hours before this place closes . . . we can still look for . . ."  
  
"Nevermind that," said Shin, "As I was saying, if I can get another piece on the   
Road Rage, I could come to the theater more often, obviously . . ."  
  
Faye suddenly noticed how hard he was trying, and picked up her head to smile   
obligingly. "That would be nice, sweetie." She scanned the options and settled   
on a latte. "I'd say the first character you should investigate is our technician.   
I'd swear he sleeps in the theater, but he has the killer car from who knows   
where. I'm guessing it's been imported."  
  
Shin raised his eyebrow, handing the cashier a twenty. "Rags to riches?"  
  
"No," Faye shrugged, uncertain, "Perhaps more riches to rags. But he can't be   
that simple. I don't think he says more than two words to anyone. Except Juri,   
I'd guess. I've seen them with their heads together—well, maybe not that close.   
But certainly closer than anyone else."   
  
"Juri? I remember Julia saying--is she the one that Spike used to . . ."  
  
"Live with?" Faye finished, unhooking herself from Shin's arm and settling into   
a nearby chair. "Bingo. But she's been seeing Ruka more recently. Not that   
she's seeing him anymore either." Faye sipped her drink thoughtfully, curling   
her toes and leaning toward her companion as if he were a magnet.   
  
"What's his name?"   
  
"Mikage Souji."  
  
And oh, I'm sorry, that you didn't see him.  
And, I'm sorry, that you didn't foresee it.  
  
"Unusual?" Utena repeated, poking herself with a needle and bringing her   
finger to her mouth while she looked thoughtful and a little bit pained. "Not   
really, he tends to stay here odd hours—coming in during the late afternoon.   
Saitou gave him a key, obviously."  
  
Faye half expected the question, 'Why do you ask?' but it never came. On the   
other hand, Utena was terribly convenient like that, always accepting another   
person's conversation without any suspicions or expectations. Utena focused   
most of her attention on whatever it was she was doing at that particular   
moment. Which also made gathering information from the stage manager quite   
difficult, one could never be subtle and generally had to ask questions point   
blank until the daydreamer understood.   
  
"I saw Mikage's car when I left yesterday. Have you seen it?"  
  
"He must be working late again." Utena grinned, then turned back to her work.   
"I need to get some more help back here in costuming." The slim girl told   
herself.  
  
Faye blinked a few times, realizing that she'd essentially gotten nowhere.   
Standing up straighter, she wondered how Shin was able to interview people so   
thoroughly, but then again, she doubted that he'd interviewed as many people   
difficult in the same way as Utena.   
  
Time was against her, and Faye hurried back to the auditorium to cover her   
scenes. She particularly dreaded working with the afternoon cast. Dorothy   
Catalonia always asked what she might improve on with a slight air of challenge   
which Faye had yet to find a balance to. And getting Sanosuke to listen was as   
difficult as asking him to get off the telephone when they'd been children. He'd   
always liked interrupting his sister whenever he could—obviously with age he   
still lacked maturity. The only non-threatening aspect was Trowa Barton, who   
clammed up so tight between scenes that he seemed to have no opinions   
whatsoever. Which managed to annoy her as well.  
  
"Alright." Faye approached the stage with suddenly tapped aggression, even   
Sano paused what he was doing. "I want everyone to run through the scene as   
we practiced yesterday, only this time I want to practice communication without   
intelligible words. So, Dorothy—all you can say is 'banana,' Trowa says   
'grapefruit' and Sano will say 'marmalade.' Concentrate on using your bodies   
and stressed syllables alone to communicate the ideas of your text." Faye took a   
deep breath, which no one interrupted. "Once you've got that down, we'll   
emphasize the actual lines."  
  
"MAR-malade." Sano wrinkled his nose.  
  
"You've got it." Faye essentially ignored him, "I'll be back in a bit."   
  
Flood of wise ideas.  
He had to be, an individual  
Entertainment in a cold, distant place  
  
She climbed the iron staircase, tightly twisting on it's way up to the sound booth   
where she expected to find the solitary technician. Working her way cautiously   
toward the observation room, she squeaked with surprise, grasping the railing as   
she nearly fell sideways.   
  
Sitting in the way, legs crossed and a lap full of wires—Mikage Souji was   
labeling each with particular care. He glanced up without moving his head at   
all, studying her from under his brow. Solemn but eerily without emotion.   
Neither surprise nor curiosity created by her presence.  
  
Faye almost felt as if she were going to speak with Utena, however when she   
opened her mouth, her eyes gradually became wider and her heart began to skip   
beats. She didn't know what to say.  
  
"Do you make it a habit to direct without interacting with your cast?"  
  
It took her a moment to realize that he was speaking to her. She reran that   
sentence through her thoughts several times before she could decipher that he   
was speaking English. "I don't think directing is really my speed," Faye   
answered. He was asking her questions? Of course, she realized she'd been   
standing there for some time when he spoke again.  
  
"Was acting?"  
  
"Now there . . ." Faye reacted sharply, but again she was uncertain if he was   
insulting her. His tone was so matter-of-fact and guileless. She wondered if he   
were only asking. Wondered if he thought she could act. He was always   
watching. Did he have a perspective to that observation? The possibilities   
flooded her system and she found herself simply standing once again.  
  
"You could always go back to stage crew." His fingers began to unravel the   
wires, sorting them and then affixing each with its appropriate label. Faye   
simply watched, her eyes lifting from the careful accuracy of his work to his   
calm features, neither perplexed or comfortable with the task.  
  
"I suppose . . ." Faye felt an obligation to keep her side of the conversation,   
even if his ears seemed not to notice. "I suppose I simply want to be here, in the   
theater, doing something . . . anything . . . useful." Her own words seemed as if   
they came from an observer, a stranger. She almost felt as if she were standing   
next to herself. Next, her neck beginning to warm, working it's way up to her   
ears. Burning as she watched him tirelessly continue.  
  
Almost anxious, she glanced down, to where she could almost make out the   
shapes of her actors between the break in the curtain. Distantly she heard their   
voices. And the echoes of footsteps. Everything seemed quite different from   
that angle.  
  
"You're a weird one, you know that?" Faye needed to escape and fired the   
comment like a starting pistol.   
  
As she fled down the stairs with a gradually calmer thudding, she began to   
register the last look he'd given her—one with a touch of bewilderment. As if   
whatever she'd said had almost offset whatever he'd been thinking at that   
moment. She hurried across the backstage, turning to glance back when she got   
to the break in the curtain. She could almost see him, still bent over his work.  
  
Shin was right. The interesting characters were ghosts hidden in the corners of   
the Road Rage.  
  
In his fruitless, glory-less life  
I'd go like this, without any thinking  
  
"Why doesn't anyone ever invite Mikage to come with us?"   
  
"What's that?" Spike's mouth hung open mid-chew. Julia reached over and   
persuaded him to close it.   
  
Faye balanced the fork between her fingers, a bit of lettuce and tomato balanced   
on the tip. "I said . . ."  
  
"I heard you." Spike sat back in his chair. Those nearest Faye watched her   
waiting to hear more before speaking.   
  
They'd gathered together after a Friday of practice to eat at one of the city's best   
steak places. The old gang came complete with their new additions, even   
though Dorothy and Nichol tended to stay at one end and Trowa only shared his   
thoughts with Saitou and sometimes Utena.  
  
"Perhaps he's a vegetarian." Shiori said, disinterested but unable to pry   
conversation from Juri across from her.   
  
"Do we know that?" Faye pressed.  
  
"I don't think he'd want to be part of the crowd." Julia said her hesitance   
betraying uncertainty even as Faye challenged the assumption with the same   
question.  
  
"I think he's quite comfortable in his anonymity." Juri spoke, and Faye was   
decidedly interested in her comment. Of them all, Juri might know best. Their   
eyes locked for a moment, Faye communicating her continuing interest with   
ever muscle of her face. "I admire that." Juri finished simply.  
  
"Ooo." Faye's resolve crumbled, "He's so mysterious, don't you think? He lets   
nothing slip yet he makes me rethink everything he says. I can't help but wonder   
if he's actually saying something else, y'know."  
  
"If you ask me, you're thinking a bit too much there, sis," Sano shook his head   
and redirected his attention back to Dorothy, attempting to charm his way into   
her conversation.  
  
"How'd you find him, Saitou?" Faye persisted, indignant after catapulting an   
evil glare at her younger sibling.   
  
"He came to us." Saitou chewed thoughtful. "He's good, efficient. You don't   
ask a gentleman questions."  
  
But oh, I'm sorry, that you didn't see him.  
And, I'm sorry, that you didn't foresee it   
  
"Later!" Julia waved, Spike pulling her eagerly one direction. The crowd was   
thinning. Shiori was stubbornly trying to recruit volunteers to patronize the   
International Velvet. And Faye felt as if her own reputation was being tarnished   
when Sano declared he'd only attend if Dorothy were going.  
  
"Count me out." Faye whined, hiding her eyes from the image of her drooling   
brother. She stepped forward, with her other arm outstretched to guide her—  
unwilling to accidentally see anything more of the unwanted situation. After   
earning a few chuckle by groping over Saitou's shirt, Faye made her way to the   
back lot where she'd left her car. She shivered, the distance hadn't seemed that   
far or nearly as chilly when they'd set out for the restaurant.   
  
With a deep intake of breath, Faye slowed—passing Mikage's car before she   
could unlock her own. He had to be in the theater still. Her plan of action   
unraveling, Faye could feel the clammy sweat cover her palms. Brushing them   
off, she tossed her hair—to remind herself that she was a diva, an actress, and   
desperately tried to persuade herself that she could be cool, collected and   
confrontational. Her curiosity won out.  
  
"Mikage?" Her voice rang through the theater. Bouncing off walls, getting lost   
in the curtain, but she was certain that he had to have heard her. "Listen . . . I'm   
the Nancy Drew type—can't sleep when I have a question unanswered." She   
chuckled. "Not that I really know what the question is. Or if there's one   
question. I can think of about a dozen trivial ones if you'd rather."  
  
She climbed onto the stage and pulled back the curtain, looking up to where   
she'd left him before. "You're absolutely fascinating, y'know. And my   
boyfriend's inquiring mind has simply rubbed on me."  
  
Step by step, she climbed that twisting stair and walked toward the sound room.   
He wasn't on the walkway, but she could still imagine him calmly sorting.   
Glancing up, she saw a beam of light through the darkened window.  
  
"Mikage, we should hire you full time to simply haunt this place." Faye's voice   
no louder than normal conversation, almost talking to herself. She wrapped her   
fingers around the doorknob, needlessly since it was already open, she pushed.  
  
The beam was from a single flashlight which had been balanced to display the   
entire council so Mikage could test the switches. Still labeling purposes.  
  
Smiling whimsically, Faye stepped back into the dark of the walkway.   
Lingering just a moment longer to capture the picture in her mind. Mikage   
Souji, still in his chair, light hair framing his shadowed features as he rested   
against folded arms—fast asleep. No pretense in his weary expression.  
  
Faye suddenly felt satisfied. He was human after all. 


	11. The Land of Make-Believe

The Land of Make Believe  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(the purpose of this Disclaimer is two-fold. First, this is an alternate reality story   
in which I crossover characters from anime series that I happen to enjoy.   
Second, the lyrics belong to Catatonia's "Blue Song." Aside from those   
borrowed aspects, the rest is my restless imagination at work—rather persistent   
since this is the eleventh part. I'm considering this practice for any longer pieces   
I might write in the future—ones hopefully without the need of a disclaimer.   
Enjoy.)  
  
"Don't bother with the formalities."   
  
"That seems unusual, coming from you." Trowa lifted his head while leaning   
against the foyer wall. The sickly glare of the fading fluorescent light making   
his features a tint of green. Otherwise, he returned to calmly reading his script.  
  
"Come now, you know what I mean. None of the 'how was your day' chit-chat."   
Dorothy glided next to him, tipping backward to perch on the edge of the front   
desk. She examined a box half full of toothpicks before pushing it aside and   
turning back to her silent companion.   
  
"How was your day?"  
  
Dorothy laughed, a different sound that she used with others. This one carrying   
a weight that almost overshadowed her amusement. "Simply splendid. And   
yours?"  
  
"Normal."  
  
"Normal, ah?" Dorothy stretched luxuriously, transforming into the image of a   
contented cat. "And it's only beginning." Glancing over, she watched the first   
waves of actors coming in to rehearse for the day.  
  
I do think that you could be  
Anything that you want to be  
  
"Public transportation? That's not your usual fare, is it?" He'd taken a glance   
around the train car as it began to slink its way from the most recent stationed   
stop. A handful of new passengers were taking their seats, fragilely stepping   
down the aisle to find the next open seats. Above the top of his daily paper,   
Nichol had spotted a familiar face. "Looking for a place?" He indicated the seat   
across from him.  
  
Shiori glanced at it, and sat down heavily, barely acknowledging him and   
turning to stare out the window to watch the world fly backwards beyond her.  
  
"You do have a car, don't you?" Nichol asked, turning back to the paper.   
Sounding disinterested, but undeniably intrigued.   
  
"Yes," Shiori responded, reluctantly. She began to pilfer through her canvas   
bag looking for something to distract her. Pulling out a book.  
  
"Frost?" Nichol raised an eyebrow, but immediately turned back to the article   
he was scanning after noticing her paperback of choice. "Now there's a simple   
seeming fellow for you with a lot of dark secrets floating about his text."  
  
Shiori scowled, stuffing the book back into her bag and returning to stare out the   
window. "I get sick reading on the train. Especially when I'm facing the wrong   
way."  
  
"You chose to sit there." Nichol commented, letting a touch of arrogance flavor   
his tone. Amused at her unwarranted, instinctual and powerful dislike. She   
looked so ordinary really, with her unstyled hair a similar color to dead leaves.   
A pert nose, tiny lips at that moment stretched thin over a pointed chin. All   
together forgettable, and resenting that with every breath. And for all that   
stubbornness—she still succumbed to those around her. It was a question not of   
power, but of tact and talent.  
  
Unless Shiori learned those lessons, she'd be nothing more than a mosquito's   
annoying pinch.  
  
When the train stopped at the end of the line, Shiori grabbed her bag and fled.   
Pushing through to exit the train as far ahead of Nichol as possible. He   
followed, with a bemused expression across his broad boned features.  
  
It's easy, easy when  
You say that time will tell  
It don't mean the last orders  
bell is ringing, ringing  
  
It was all too easy to interrupt. Turning the corner, she saw them a few yards   
further down the corridor. The taller woman pushed back against the wall,   
retreating into it, her curls a dark crimson color in the distorted lights. And   
Shiori, pacing a little, the end of her hair vibrating with a growing impatience.   
Keeping both eyes on her unspeaking prey.  
  
But that was where the young one was wrong. She wasn't toying with   
something harmless.   
  
Dorothy walked between them, amused by how Shiori ceased speaking and put   
her hands on her hips with more than a touch of annoyance. Whatever moment   
the girl was trying to create was spoiled as Juri moved more swiftly that Shiori   
could recover—the older woman's pace so quick that she overtook and passed   
Dorothy with no trouble.  
  
The stiffness of her shoulders, the way her fingers hesitated from becoming fists   
but were curled so tightly. How her head leaned forward as if to break the wind   
and the hair fell on either side, exposing her neck.  
  
The kitten was fortunate. Dorothy could see that true feelings, even those of a   
dark secret passion, when not held in check would unleash a hurricane of depth   
enough to skin a cat. Shiori would never survive getting what she desired.  
  
Pondering that thought with no little amusement, Dorothy turned into the prop   
room innocently enough.  
  
And there's always plenty more  
In the sea...  
  
Dorothy's apartment was certainly accustomed to entertaining guests, both those   
she meant to impress and those she meant to impose upon. The matching   
furniture not unlike white marshmallows, the immaculate glass coffee table and   
the elegantly shaped lamps spread like peacock feathers over it all.   
  
Nichol was the only dark spot, immune to the apparent purity of it all. Taking a   
tentative sip of the coffee Dorothy had offered him to see if it was to his liking,   
pausing just a moment before dedicating his attention to the well brewed bean.   
Listening to Dorothy's preamble.  
  
"And Saitou's little assistant might have some talent hidden under all of the   
inconveniences, but there are moments, mere moments mind you, during which   
I wonder if that Chang fellow at the Glass House might have been the lesser   
evil."  
  
"She doesn't hold a torch to you and you know it." Nichol stated, "Ms.   
'Valentine' " he emphasized the name with a low chortle, "will do whatever   
Saitou tells her and will diminish when the official fall production begins. I   
don't see Hajime Saitou letting an amateur carrying so much weight during the   
next season."   
  
"Quite true." Dorothy lounged in her armchair, crossing her slender legs, letting   
one fair knee pull free from the flowing golden skirt. "But I don't see you as one   
to lecture me on having a slight quarrel." She glanced at her companion with   
clear, almost all blue eyes. "You haven't quite forgiven Mr. Barton for being   
talented enough to distract your lovely lady . . ."  
  
Nichol snarled, quite obvious with his feelings and unashamed, "Matters of the   
heart should have nothing to do with *talent* even thought that aspect is still   
undetermined in our case."  
  
"Now let's not recreate to our liking what's already happened," Dorothy   
laughed, every movement sparkling under the brilliant lighting of her room.   
"Let's all hope we lose with as much tact as you have, my dear." She let the jab   
linger before interrupting Nichol's retort, "Now, speaking of matters of the   
heart—have you heard what spurs on our lovely little Shiori?"  
  
"Resentment."  
  
Dorothy nodded, "Of the worst kind. Misguided resentment. She seems to   
believe that matters of the heart might truly be rearranged by talent . . . although   
the depth of her abilities does leave a lot to be desired."  
  
"Perhaps if we could sic her on Barton . . ."  
  
"Now, now." Dorothy said quickly, "Demonstrate a little bit more of your class,   
Nichol. I wouldn't associate with you if you didn't have any." Nichol bristled,   
but held his tongue. "But there is something I find so charming about your   
indignation."  
  
Nichol studied her for a moment then, again finding himself curious as to what   
motivated Dorothy to her meddlesome interests. Was it simply the pleasure of   
the game, or was she simply a master at utilizing her own well-hidden anger.   
When dealing with actors, one guess would always be as good as another.   
Unless one uncovered the truth.  
  
You keep playing the  
Same tired old blues songs  
Over the same tired  
Old blues chords  
Put those songs to sleep  
They don't make me  
Weep anymore...  
  
"They're watching her, aren't they?" Juri spoke without looking up, certain that   
it was the person she always met at that moment in that place.  
  
Trowa sat next to her, in his usual spot, stretching his legs out ahead of him,   
resting his upper body and shoulders against the wall behind the stone bench. It   
was Tuesday, when the art museum was free and when Juri had a moment to   
practice her art.  
  
"Watching?" Trowa thought for a moment, not to understand her question as   
much as to decide how to formulate his answer. His voice became more gentle.   
"It seems above all other things, Shiori wants to be noticed."  
  
"Perhaps," Juri's voice responded by taking a bitter edge. "But she has no idea   
what she's asking for. What would they do to her? Ridicule her?"  
  
Trowa puffed out his cheeks, "I doubt that, unless she already was aware of their   
mocking. But it's not like that yet. I think, at best, they're looking for a play   
thing."  
  
"She's not a thing."  
  
Trowa considered the remark and the following silence thoughtfully.  
  
"Is there anything to be done so that they stop . . . being amused by her? Could   
you speak to them? I would defend her myself but . . ."  
  
Trowa lifted an eyebrow, still without comment.  
  
"She has no idea. No idea. And it kills me to know that some day . . . she   
might." Juri's pencil strokes began to press more heavily into the paper. "That   
some day, she might insist on something definite. She might get to ask her   
questions. And then, however will she live with the answers?"  
  
Your empty glass ain't  
No crystal ball  
It can't tell you  
What the future's bringing  
Bringing it's bank  
holiday mundane  
  
Responding to Sano's inquiry, Spike's voice was cheerful enough, but each word   
he spoke was deliberately chosen, "Sure, sure, I've heard from Ruka. The old   
bloke keeps meeting folks of international prowess, directors and the like, so   
that he can't decide if he likes their offers or if he wants to come back to all of   
us. Overall, he's enjoying himself."  
  
"What a hiatus," Sano coughed, "Getting to meet ultra-beautiful yet brainy   
babes from all those independent films, I suppose. Damn him. I can't wait until   
I have enough seniority to take a summer vacation."  
  
"What a bunch of baloney," Faye whispered, just loud enough that she knew   
Juri could hear, "I bet he's got issues with an old college loan and is wrestling a   
life debt away from a loan shark. Didn't I hear he went to a super snotty school?   
I'm sure that cost a bundle." She glanced Juri's direction, but the woman kept   
quiet, not revealing her knowledge of Ruka's whereabouts to contradict or   
coincide with Spike's assertion of the situation.  
  
"Who exactly was Ruka?" Dorothy's silky voice did answer Faye's pregnant   
pause. Faye felt her insides darken as she turned the other way to confront the   
elegant actress. "I do hear his name so often. He seems well missed, if   
mysterious."  
  
"He was here before I came to the Road Rage." Faye said shortly, trying to be   
as unhelpful as possible. "He was a quiet, but talented actor. I'm sure you'll get   
to meet him in the fall."  
  
"If he comes back from . . . where did you say? The loan shark?" Dorothy   
laughed like well practiced church bells. "It sounds more like he's in some   
imaginary Hollywood."  
  
"I think I have some place I need to be." Faye said with exaggerated sweetness   
and pivoted to go the other direction.  
  
"Ruka Tsuchiya." Dorothy said, confidently lifting her head and observing   
Juri's silent presence, until the other woman straightened and simply walked   
away.  
  
Medazalan may help to stop  
That stinging, stinging  
And there's always plenty more  
In the sea...  
  
"Oh my goodness, do you hear that?" Faye rolled over on the blanket so that she   
was side by side with her companion, as close as she could get. "Bird, Shin,   
birds. Isn't that nice?" Shin acknowledge her with a sound deep in his throat,   
keeping his eyes closed and persisting in his attempt for what he called a "quick   
nap."  
  
They were picnicking at a park several miles outside of the city, one that Shin   
had promised was worth the trip, and so far Faye had found herself terribly   
amused. By the park. On the other hand, somehow, her mischievous brother   
had managed to invite himself and a few of the others along. All in all, it had   
become a rather elaborate outing.  
  
Nearby, Spike and Sano were arguing over who was going to wear the "Kiss the   
Chef" apron, speaking to each other with gritted teeth and trying to settle their   
differences before either Julia or Misao could recognize the quarrel for what it   
was. To their good fortune, Trowa was actually tending the grill.  
  
The quiet man had agreed to come along, even though at most of their social   
gatherings he kept his thoughts to himself. Besides common politeness, Trowa   
only entertained an outward friendship with Saitou, Utena and occasionally   
Juri—none of whom were attending Faye and Shin's barbeque getaway.   
  
"I'll let you where this if and only if . . . " Sano grinned devilishly and his voice   
lowered, "You give me Catherine's telephone number."  
  
"*As* if," Spike shook his head in bewilderment, "Must you have every   
woman's phone number?"  
  
"Technically, I don't need Faye's . . ." Sano rubbed his chin in mock   
thoughtfulness, the other hand holding the apron-in-debate tightly under his   
opposite elbow.   
  
"If you're so stuck on Catherine, why do you keep asking Misao out?" Spike   
growled.  
  
"Well, Misao is fun, but Catherine . . . she's much cuter." Sano shook his finger   
forward to emphasize each word. "And she can cook."  
  
"That's not Catherine Bloom you're talking about, is it?"   
  
"Har--umph?" Sano's head twisted amazing fast to catch Trowa listening with   
the beginnings of a crooked grin crossing Trowa's lips. "Do you know her?"   
Sano asked, torn between hope and despair. His eyebrows lifted high.  
  
"You could say, I see her quite often . . ." Trowa half turned back to the evening   
meal, appearing very intent, and letting his hair hide a quite amused expression.  
  
"And what exactly do you mean by 'see'," Sano stood straighter, become more   
reserved as Trowa relaxed.   
  
Spike stepped forward, the apron forgotten in this new revelation. "Don't tell   
me, Catherine caters for the old Glass House gang?"  
  
"She's kind of like family," Trowa began turning the meat with exaggerated   
deliberateness. "Especially after her mum married my dad."  
  
"You're siblings?" Sano cried out with disbelief.  
  
"More like step-siblings, but yeah," Trowa grinned, facing Sano completely.   
"She's way out of your league, Sano. Trust me. For your sanity, at least."  
  
Sano steamed, "Now, how do you think . . . I get it, you're her *step* brother,   
you're jealous!" Sano snapped his fingers delightedly, a wicked gleam in his   
eye.  
  
It was Trowa's turn to look flabbergasted, "What the heck?"   
  
Sano snorted confidently, "Prove you're not as mad as hell that I'm interested in   
good ol' Cathy . . . by giving me her phone number!" Sano practically pounced   
Trowa who instinctively curled over the grill.  
  
With acrobatic reflexes, Trowa still managed to cover up his initial surprise,   
"Dinner's ready."  
  
"Like hell!" Sano cried indignantly, "I'm going to haunt you forever until you   
cave in, Barton my boy! Give me Cathy's phone number!"   
  
And let it begin again  
Let it begin again  
With a hearty meal  
And a map to read  
  
She somehow realized it was a dream when her lazy wave and order to "repeat"   
went without question. Or perhaps it was the large yellow chicken suit that   
Dorothy was wearing with perfect posture. And that the dialogue was   
reminiscent of the toothpaste commercial she'd seen last before turning off the   
television.  
  
Faye was in the theater, but it was strangely elongated so that the actors seemed   
far far away. And somewhere Saitou was saying, "Floss and Listerine. Floss   
and Listerine and Floss are the keys to good acting."  
  
Next to her, Mikage was sleeping in one of the deep red seats. His eyes opened   
and quite plainly said, "I know the key to good acting. Why don't you ask   
Ruka?"  
  
And then the buzzing of her alarm.  
  
Faye stretched, letting her consciousness puzzle over the sound until it   
remembered that the persistent noise was not the fire alarm in the Road Rage.   
She pushed back the sheets with her legs, still stretching her reluctant limbs,   
unwilling to get up. Still she managed to stay mostly asleep until she got into   
the shower.  
  
When the dream came back to her again in all it's peculiarities.   
  
Simply letting the water wash over her, hot enough to numb her toes and just   
shy of scalding her back. Uncertain what she was afraid of, Faye trembled. The   
nagging thought still echoing in the back of her skull, like a ghost in her mind.   
  
In a flash it was gone, and she turned, almost too quickly as her right foot slid   
wildly across the slippery surface. Turning the water temperature back to   
something more bearable, which inevitably felt too cool, Faye tried to remember   
what it was that unsettled her so much.   
  
But it had disappeared. With a shrug, Faye put it behind her.  
  
Oh life's been good to me...  
So keep playing those same  
Old blues songs...  
You keep playing the  
Same tired old blues songs  
Over the same tired  
Old blues chords  
Put those songs to sleep  
They don't make me  
Weep anymore  
They don't make me  
Weep anymore... 


	12. Apple Core

Apple Core  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Perhaps I should call this the never-ending story . . . at least, it   
certainly can seem that way, but while the muses prompt me, I will follow. Part   
Twelve of my on-going misadventures of the alternate reality Road Rage   
Theater and Company comprises characters from a handful of different anime   
series: Rurouni Kenshin, Utena, Gundam Wing and Cowboy Bebop. The lyrics   
accompanying this particular segment are from the Catatonia song "Apple Core"   
a rather short tune by the spunky European band. Once again, Catatonia   
breathes life into my imagination. This is a short one—but I suddenly have two   
particular stories in mind and needed to finish this one so that the next chapters   
could come more quickly!)  
  
  
Faye crossed her leg toward Shin and took his near hand with both of hers. It   
was opening night of the Summer Spotlights and the two of them were sitting in   
the back near the far aisle. Faye had seen all of the scenes more than any one   
person would care to unless they were paid, but seeing them with the auditorium   
lights out and only the stage lighting to illuminate the actors still managed to   
make her stomach do flip flops. Shin patted her tight knuckle embrace with his   
opposite hand, in an attempt to be reassuring which made her all the more   
nervous fearing that he were only appeasing her.   
  
The scene that had given her the most trouble had been a quick sketch with   
characters played by her own brother, Sanosuke Sagara, as well as Dorothy   
Catalonia and Trowa Barton—seasoned actors and refugees from the splintering   
Glass House Theater. The dynamics between the three when pitted against her   
own stubbornness had ended up with a rather stiff and dangerously violent   
volley of slanted dialogue. Watching them between her fingers, Faye kept   
hearing "marmalade" syllables under the current of their voices.  
  
Shin snorted, a quick repression of amusement responding to something said on   
stage and Faye tried to capture or remember what it might have been. Then she   
heard other genuine snickers of amusement from the audience sitting directly in   
front of her. Glancing up, she noticed that the actors were gaining momentum   
from the attention of the audience. She comfortably slouched forward, the deep   
purple colored folds of her dress collecting around her midsection.   
  
The curtains closed after the threesome on stage took a prepared bow.   
  
"You must have tamed them somehow, that was incredibly fun." Shin   
whispered close to her ear. Faye smiled, still uncertain but truly wanting to   
believe him. Perhaps directing wasn't so bad, but she wouldn't be able to eat and   
keep the food down for several hours even after the show, of that she was sure.  
  
Even as the lights came on and she and Shin slipped out quickly in order to   
worm their way backstage, Faye hesitated to feel any true sense of   
accomplishment. Perhaps three talented actors could have pulled anything off   
even when getting lousy direction.   
  
She slipped her arms through Shins and after seeing Hajime Saitou coming from   
the opposite direction, began intently studying the buckles of her fashionable   
boots.  
  
"Good work, Valentine." Saitou glanced down at her a moment as he passed,   
then continued onward without changing his traditionally dour expression.  
  
"Faye, you're cutting the circulation off to my arm," Shin finally protested,   
trying to pry her individual fingers from his muscle.  
  
"Did you hear that?!" Faye yelled jubilantly. "I did great! Did you hear him?"   
Her face twisted into the expression of someone drinking something sour they   
weren't expecting, her voice lowered, "Good work, Valentine." She beamed,   
"Ah-ha! Broadway, here I come!" She lifted a fist triumphantly and pulled her   
companion along the hall with a swifter step.  
  
Don't be so hard on yourself...no...  
  
"What are you doing?" Juri asked after considering her words carefully. "It's   
almost four in the morning."  
  
"What are you still doing here? I waited, thought about going to the parties . . .   
didn't get any farther than this."   
  
Without explanation, Shiori was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the front   
glass display of the Road Rage just to one side of the main entrance on the   
corner. Her legs were curled up and wrapped tight with the circle of her arms.   
The younger girl's expression hidden in the lamplight and ever-present glow of   
the display full of advertisements and posters.   
  
Juri had just left the building, letting the door slip closed and clicking locked-  
shut again. "I was talking to Mikage." Shiori didn't move, and hadn't attempted   
to the entire conversation, letting her chin rest against one knee. Seeming quite   
small and foolish alone near the street. Juri took a step closer. "Why didn't you   
go to one of the parties. It's not safe for you to just sit here . . ." She wasn't sure   
how to continue.  
  
"The moon looks sick tonight." Shiori sighed. "Not unlike how I feel. I can't   
pretend to celebrate when everything in this God awful theater makes me feel   
like puking. I hate acting." She added with venom.  
  
"You're a good actress." Juri said, "Don't talk like that."  
  
"I don't know who I'm trying to fool." Shiori's response clipped short. "I've   
been thinking. Perhaps I don't belong here. It's not like I'm irreplaceable . . ."  
  
"Don't say that." Juri reached out automatically, to console the girl.   
  
"Don't touch me!" Shiori cried out, pulling away, but staying curled tight. "I . .   
. I can't stand it!"  
  
Juri's fingers snapped back, and her eyes widened with surprise. The hostility   
was unexpected. "It's late. You're not yourself." Juri surmised, speaking   
mostly to herself.  
  
Shiori laughed bitterly, "Not myself? Not myself. Who the hell are you to tell   
me what I'm like?"  
  
Hovering, uncertainly, Juri watched Shiori transform, unlacing her arms,   
stretching out her legs. Planting her sneakered feet and standing up with a   
confident spring, Shiori shook out her hair and turned sparkling eyes toward the   
other woman. Then, Shiori's eyes narrowed, appraising Juri's sincere and   
confused bewilderment.   
  
"Don't look at me like that." Shiori's voice was even different, the sickly sweet   
element dripped over each word.   
  
"What happened?" Juri whispered.  
  
Shiori shrugged, and began to move away. "Doesn't matter." One moment in   
shadow, the next in a ray of streetlight, then again swallowed by shadow, Shiori   
left Juri alone.  
  
Don't be so hard on yourself...no...  
  
If the situation was uncomfortable, Trowa was able to hide it faultlessly well.   
The way his eyelids always seemed to droop with half asleep ease, and the   
steady glass to mouth to table to mouth motion of his hand worked away the   
minutes like a steady metronome. After the show, he'd put on a simple dark   
turtleneck and jeans, allowing him to blend into the smoky atmosphere of the   
International Velvet, the regular celebration spot of the Road Rage crowd. A   
silent, steady counterbalance to the company seated to either side of him.  
  
Sano had nearly given up on breaking Trowa's iron resolve to conveniently   
forget his stepsister Catherine Bloom's telephone number, home address,   
frequent customers and usual company. "I'll follow you where ever you go, lurk   
about in your dreams and unravel this mystery if it's the last thing I do!" Sano   
said, seemingly to himself, gnawing on a toothpick as Trowa merely took   
another sip of his beverage. The younger actor shook his fist dramatically, but   
simply earned an amused "humph" from Saitou as the director blew smoke at   
him across the table.  
  
On Trowa's other side, Dorothy Catalonia sophisticatedly draped herself across   
her chair, somehow her silver-white and gold presence sparkling like a jewel in   
the otherwise dark and secretive comfort of the establishment. She seemed to   
glimmer in a fluctuating syncretism with the constant music. Otherwise,   
Dorothy was incredibly bored.   
  
"Wanna dance, babe?" She leaned toward Trowa, catching him in the process of   
dropping his defenses as his glass returned to the table. Trowa's lips twitched   
negatively; however, before he could respond verbally, Dorothy slapped the   
table. "Tonight, I'm *not* going to take 'no' for an answer." In what could have   
been argued as an unladylike manner, Dorothy pushed her chair back from the   
table with an obnoxious screech of movement. "C'mon." Dorothy propped one   
hand on her hip and waved him up with her other, almost as if she were mentally   
commanding his response.  
  
Trowa obligingly, unfolded from his chair, perhaps mumbling some apologies   
from under his breath but no one heard or responded.  
  
"What do you want?" Trowa asked, standing awkwardly motionless after   
Dorothy's ethereal body language pulled him to the farthest side of the room.   
  
Dorothy appraised his comment for a moment from under a flirtatiously   
innocent gaze. "None of that now, Trowa dear, you were the one who wanted to   
talk to me, wasn't it?"  
  
"Stop playing." Trowa grabbed Dorothy's arm as she began to slide closer to   
him, pretending to dance. His fingers loosened as they settled down by her   
waist. "I do have one question for you. What's this sudden interest in the Shiori   
girl?"  
  
"My, my, my." Dorothy batted her eyelids, playfully, but with unspoken   
seriousness a strong undercurrent between them. "Why have you a sudden   
interest in such a trifle?"  
  
"I'm asking for a friend." Trowa said, the anonymity a transparent veil for the   
truth. He knew he was concealing nothing Dorothy had not surmised for   
herself.   
  
"Since when have you had friends, Trowa?" Dorothy asked sweetly, their   
compromise and friendliness being tested to a new limit. She didn't approve of   
being taken lightly. "You don't simply call in favors for just anyone now, do   
you?" She tried to break the expressionlessly cool look Trowa had locked on   
her. "I'm so curious why you'd waste the effort of asking me for something . . .   
for a woman you hardly have known."  
  
"Some people don't play our games." Trowa said, the slowness of his words   
perhaps indicating his diminishing patience. "Not all actors like to play with   
their lovers until they're exhausted or broken." Dorothy raised her eyebrow,   
continuing to act surprised. "Juri's mistake is that she cares too much for anyone   
who appears earnest. I don't know what Shiori's intentions are, but I think we'd   
all rather her intentions remain untainted . . . uninfluenced."  
  
Dorothy laughed, tossing her hair and her appearance of amused contentment   
did cause Trowa to frown. "Don't look so confused, dear heart!" Dorothy   
laughed again, "You are so beautifully sensitive, don't you know?" Stretching   
luxuriously, Dorothy pulled him into the thick of the dancing anonymity.   
"Watch more closely, you'll see not everyone is as clawless as you imagine them   
to be." Pulling his head closer by twisting her fingers into the back of his hair,   
Dorothy whispered, "Not everyone is as you are." Nothing else was said.  
  
"What was that all about?" Nichol asked pointedly when Dorothy stopped back   
by the table some time later in order to take a few sips of her drink.  
  
Dorothy studied him a moment over the edge of her glass, her grey blue eyes   
thoughtful. Then she simply said with a gleeful jab, "Nothing, sweetie. But at   
least Trowa dances."  
  
Don't be so hard on yourself...no...  
  
"It's a rather experimental process of procedures, again, but it seems to be my   
best shot at this point." Ruka paused, "I wonder how much I'll look like a naked   
bunny when I'm hairless."  
  
"You'll lose your hair?" Julia tried not to sound discouraging as she scrambled   
to keep the smile on her face, even though he obviously would never see it over   
the telephone.  
  
Ruka laughed, which reassured his listener more than anything else he'd said for   
the entire conversation. "Honestly, Julia, they don't have much of a clue as to   
what will really happen to me, but they can sure dream up a whole slew of   
horrible things in all of the pre-surgical interviews and round-table   
brainstorming conferences." Ruka laughed again, this time however sounding   
more put on than honest, "I'm the guinea pig, of course, still it's a bit   
demoralizing to the survival instinct to listen to half of these academic chaps   
refer to me, while I'm in the room mind you, as the 'test subject' or 'sample'."  
  
"Oh dear," Julia again found herself at a loss for words, and tore her eyes away   
from Spike who, from his end of the couch, was glaring at her expectantly for   
clues since up to that point her side of the conversation had been relatively   
cryptic. "How long will this all take? Are you ever coming back to us?" She   
reached up to hold the telephone's receiver in both hands, to keep them from   
trembling.  
  
The initial silence seemed an eternity, "If all goes well, I could expect to be back   
after observations and recovery are complete. It's not going to be years, but . . .   
the most optimistic projections, from that Groucho Marx look-a-like I told you   
about, are about six months."  
  
"Six months." Julia repeated, a bit dazed and also for Spike's benefit so that he'd   
no longer feel obligated to jostle her seat cushion.  
  
"Six months," Ruka repeated as if they were his lifeline. "It seems rather   
miraculously short, or long, depending on which end of things you're coming   
from. But it is the optimistic report." His tone fluctuating from careless   
reassurance to a betraying weariness.   
  
"Hang in there, darling." Julia tapped into her maternal instinct for strength.   
"Spike and I are so proud of you, being so strong."  
  
Ruka's laughs seemed to come too easily and on cue. "Thanks. Oh, and I don't   
know when I'll be free to call as often. I need to know . . . how's Juri?" He   
added the final thought, quickening his pace with each word.  
  
"Well, she's fine. Fine, really. Yes, she's . . . fine."  
  
Don't be so hard on yourself...no... 


	13. On the Threshold of a Dream

On The Threshold of a Dream  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: This delightfully thirteenth of the parts of my on-going alternate   
reality story is a bridge between what has come before and what will come after.   
Don't think about that too much, I could have feasibly put that in the disclaimer   
of any of the chapters after the first one. While you'll find the continuing cast of   
characters—recognizable as regulars from Gundam Wing, Cowboy Bebop,   
Utena and Rurouni Kenshin—still up and about in the Road Rage Theater as   
usual, this is sort of a side story flirting with a few specific characters. In the   
works is another bit that will bring the story back to it's epic proportions. In the   
meantime, here's a little sweet filler. Also, since it's a tangent, the lyrics are   
from Starsailor, the British boys' response to Catatonia.)  
  
Tie up my hands  
  
It had to be done. Taking a deep breath, Sano leaned his back against the wall   
and then with a determined flurry of movement, pushed open the dressing room   
door like a patrolling officer without his gun. And Sano's intentions were a little   
below the letter of the law.   
  
He flipped on the lights, and seeing no one in the room at all, rushed toward the   
old lockers that the Road Rage cast used to hold their personal belongs during   
shows and rehearsals. Normally, they each respected each other's property. A   
few of the more paranoid, although they wouldn't admit it out right, would   
arrange their things just so—in the effort of easily noticing anything that had   
been disturbed. Sano examined the locker he had in mind carefully, trying to   
remember how the meaningless padlock rested on the dividing hash mark   
between forty-two and forty-three, how the handle was obviously secured into   
place, closed.   
  
Opening the door, he took one more painfully anxious moment to memorize the   
contents, ascertain which item he needed and prepare to return the wallet to the   
same exact position.  
  
Sano didn't care about fingerprints, he was desperate but not stupid. If nothing   
looked disturbed, then no one would suspect. And even if someone did suspect,   
not one item would have been removed; thereby, his prying left no cause for   
concern. Just as long as he didn't get caught by anyone.  
  
Rifling through the monetary bills, Sano managed to feel a small bit of   
admiration at how simple the wallet managed to be. He knew that his own was   
rather brimming with signed receipts promising payment at some undetermined   
future point. Smirking to himself, Sano wasn't even sure if his wallet supported   
anything green and of recognizable, immediate value. But the lack of extra   
filling in this wallet worried Sano, it could spoil his sole purpose.  
  
To find some evidence of how he could track down Catherine Bloom, the lovely   
step-sister of the wallet's owner, Trowa Barton.  
  
Convincing himself that he would steal the cheesy yet adorable photograph of   
the young caterer that Trowa had tucked into the plastic sheath if her address   
was nowhere to be found, Sano took a moment to chuckle over the family   
picture—obviously taken when both Trowa and Catherine were in high school.   
Barton's characteristically long hair was painfully gelled into a rebellious point.   
Catherine's clothes, while flattering to her young figure were hideously outdated   
and by current standards a fashionable mistake. Sano almost reconsidered   
stealing that picture, one he could keep under the luxury of blackmail when he   
found exactly what he was looking for.  
  
Taking his own paper and pen, Sano scribbled down the phone number and   
address. Everything was put into the locker as it was before, exactly one hash   
away from forty-two. His brow furrowed as he re-read the street name, leaving   
the dressing room with no further concerns of being discovered. The address   
was stuffed deeply into his back pocket.  
  
"This can't be right."  
  
Wipe the make-up from your face   
Tie your hair and gently fall from grace   
  
The last thought Sanosuke had before falling asleep was oddly enough the same   
thought that came to his mind as he woke again. How the heck could Catherine   
Bloom be his neighbor? And he never noticed? It added a new twist to   
everything. Granted, she lived in a building on the farthest corner of the entire   
property, but he never had a clue. And no one who knew had dropped a hint.   
He felt a bit betrayed and with that unpleasant thought fell asleep again for   
sometime.   
  
When the phone rang, Sano bitterly twisted, the sheets wrapping against his lean   
torso until he felt like a rigid burrito. "Whadya want?"   
  
"It's me, Misao. I was wondering what you were up to and if you wanted to go   
to the beach or something?"  
  
"Misao?" Sano's slow processes managed to conjure the image and memory of   
the spry young girl who'd recently discovered green contacts and joined a karate   
club. She'd been using him as a punching bag of sorts while Sano argued that   
karate had to be more than fist fighting. When he'd threatened to show her how   
to land a real punch, Misao admitted that she hadn't actually gone to the club   
she'd joined. "Whadya doing calling me so early that it can't wait?"  
  
"Oh you're just lazy. I bet you don't even drag yourself to your apartment's   
pools on nice Saturdays like this. If you don't watch it, you'll start to look all   
saggy like my gramps."  
  
Sano almost longed for the days when Misao had overly adored him—rather   
than trying to control him. "Whatever. You just want to tan and get all greasy   
from the tanning oils."  
  
"With this complexion?" Misao chirped continually, overlapping Sano's   
grumbled and mumbled comments. "Fine, you just waste away until that   
mattress is indented with your flabby figure, Mr. Sagara. See if I care."  
  
"Misao . . . ow." Sano tried to sit up was held fast by the bed sheets. He   
reluctantly tugged them aside.   
  
"See you at the pool!" Misao cheerfully squeaked. As Sano listened to the dial   
tone, while trying to find where the hand held phone was supposed to reside, he   
could picture her triumphant grin as she jubilantly grabbed her car keys and sped   
toward the apartments with dastardly intentions.  
  
Still, after Misao pounded on the door until he woke up for the third time that   
morning, Sano found the day had reached a satisfyingly hot temperature making   
the shabby pool rather luxurious. Misao looked cute enough in her suit, she'd   
cut her hair short and it made her look younger and even more tomboyish. Sano   
remembered the picture of Catherine when she was younger, the same lean   
figure and unsexy style of clothes.   
  
He lounged on one of the beach chairs set under a practically useless umbrella   
shielding him from the sun but not the heat. Pushing his unruly hair back from   
his forehead, Sano smiled up at Misao who was close enough to encompass his   
whole vision.   
  
"You are so lazy, Sagara." She frowned and with a lingering pout, turned away   
to entertain herself.  
  
"Just trying to catch some zzz's, Misao, that's all." Sano excused himself,   
feeling a bit guilty but for what he wasn't certain. He sat forward, and even as   
he did so, he noticed what he'd been subconsciously hoping for since they'd   
come to the pool. Across the lot, getting into her red Escort and hefting a large   
box with her trim figure was Catherine Bloom.  
  
"My God, she is real." Sano said to himself, not noticing that his jaw had   
dropped. Once again, all intelligence slipping away as he entered a near sleep   
moment of bliss.  
  
Until I come again   
Take the disaffected life   
Men who ran the company, ran your life   
You could have been his wife   
  
"Need a hand?"  
  
Catherine finished shoving the overly packed box into the back seat of her car   
and shading her eyes, realized that the speaker was an over grown puppy of a   
man. Her eyes narrowed naturally to filter out the afternoon glare. She glanced   
at her half full car and imagined the length and effort the boxes that remained   
would take. Not one to turn down anything that made her life more pleasant,   
Catherine shrugged, "Sure, why not?"  
  
"I'm Sano Sagara." He chattered on easily, following Catherine as she retraced   
her steps back to the apartment. He followed eagerly. "I've lived here since last   
summer, funny I haven't seen you before."  
  
"Catherine Bloom. I'm not here often." Catherine commented, pulling her keys   
from her pocket and unlocking her apartment door. "And unfortunately, I'm not   
going to be here much longer." She appraised the boxes that littered her living   
room and tried to decide what wasn't essential that could go on before her.   
"Could you take this? And this?" She pointed, just before scooping up a plastic   
bag of miscellaneous garments and towels herself.  
  
"Right, Catherine." The neighbor picked up the boxes easily enough, and   
appeared to have plenty of strength to carry more, but Catherine didn't bother to   
appointed any other tasks to him at that moment. "So why are you moving?"   
His voice took a strangely regretful tone.   
  
Catherine swallowed heavily, she wasn't one to shy away from telling about   
herself, but something in his question seemed genuinely concerned, and she   
wasn't used to dealing well with honest people they were so rare. "There really   
is no reason for me to stay." Catherine said lightly, trying to keep the bag   
propped on her hip and ended up carrying it forward with the support of her   
knee. "I mean, my brother still lives around here, which is cool and all. But,   
everything else sort of fell apart."  
  
"I'm sorry." He finished arranging the back of her car so the bag could fit in as   
well. He was uncommonly tall, but she hadn't noticed at first. His full hair   
made him seem even taller, and while Catherine wasn't a small girl, the angle at   
which she noticed his brown eyes tilted her neck farther than usual.   
  
"Thanks." She puzzled over his carefree statement. "It's really saving me time   
that you're helping. Just a few more things for the trunk and I'm all set." She   
watched as he matched her pace on their next trip. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten   
your name already . . . did it start with an 'b'?"  
  
"Sano. Sanosuke Sagara."   
  
Catherine felt the clicks of piece by piece recognition. "Sagara? Like Faye   
Sagara? Sanosuke Sagara? Road Rage Sagara?"  
  
His grin lit up his features with pleasure, "That's right. One and the same,   
Sanosuke Sagara. But good grief, don't mind me if I don't tell my sister you   
associated the two of us."  
  
"She's your sister?" Catherine laughed, "I catered some of Spike Spiegel's   
parties and thought that you two were married?"  
  
"What the heck?" The boy yelped in dismay, which Catherine anticipated with a   
bit of playfulness.  
  
"Just kidding, silly." She began to point out boxes again which Sano swooped   
up effortlessly. "Golly you're efficient. So, I guess that you know my darling   
brother, even if we don't share the same name. His is Barton, Trowa Barton."  
  
"Know?" Sano growled good-naturedly, "He's my constant rival."  
  
"I bet." Catherine scoffed, "Trowa's about as confrontational as a wet paper   
towel."  
  
"And you are . . ."  
  
She wilted a bit even though she saw the teasing light in his eyes, "A used up   
paper towel, really. Not that . . ."  
  
"Not so!" Sano protested, nearly dropping the boxes in his dismay and causing   
Catherine to rush forward. "I've got it. Don't worry. My dear lady, you are by   
no means a paper towel . . . of any variety. Your good brother on the other hand   
. . ."  
  
"Hey now," She waved her finger, and Sano picked up another box and   
balanced it beneath his arm. "I claim sole mocking rights on my sibling."  
  
"Understood." Sano tossed his eyes upward, "But still, you are a goddess."  
  
She hesitated a moment, a bit confused by his forward flirtations and decided to   
attribute it to the actor's performance mentality. "Not a goddess, unfortunately.   
If I had that sort of power, I wouldn't be leaving my child here with a good-for-  
nothing father that happens to have a bigger paycheck than I do. Watch that   
box! Don't carry so much if you can't."  
  
"I can." Sano said quickly, lacing the comment with false cheerfulness.  
  
When they came out into the afternoon sunshine, Catherine could feel a change   
in her helper. She simply couldn't put a finger on the difference. "You've been   
a big help. Thank you."  
  
"Anytime." Sano shrugged, looking rather bashful.  
  
"Maybe I'll see you at the theater?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
I wanna love you but my hands are tied   
I wanna stay here but I've been denied   
  
"What do you think about younger men and older women?" Sano asked,   
plucking at the edge of the fabric spilling free from the sewing machine.  
  
"I think they're nice." Utena pulled on the cloth, securing the ends together with   
calculated movements of her fingers coordinated with the machine's thread.   
  
"Together, Utena. What do you think of them together, as a couple?" Sano   
wondered how a girl could be as clueless as he was at times.  
  
"I suppose it depends on the people. If they love each other, anything works.   
Wouldn't you agree?" Utena put the unnecessary pins into her mouth and   
effectively ended her side of the conversation.  
  
Sano, meanwhile, was distractedly hung up on the deciding word. He knew his   
family members were capable of great love—albeit that they demonstrated it in   
a rather backward manner. His parents were disgustingly tied up in each other's   
lives. Even Faye seemed rather head over heels for the quiet reporter she found   
at the coffee shop. But himself? Not really.  
  
When Trowa stopped in the doorway, comfortably dressed in a brown shirt and   
khakis, Sano's ears burned as if he'd been caught in bed with Catherine. In bed.   
The picture made Sano flush even faster. He tried to balance out the reaction by   
remembering the "rebellious punk" version of young Trowa in the family photo.  
  
"Sano." Trowa said simply.  
  
For some reason, Sano couldn't find how his voice worked.  
  
"For some reason, . . . my sister is asking for you."  
  
"Your sister?" Sano squeaked, pointing at himself and doing his best to look   
innocent and puzzled.  
  
Trowa's eyebrows pulled up in the middle, almost sympathetic, but his   
monotone was more experienced, "Are you going to keep her waiting?"  
  
"No?" Sano didn't move, unnerved since Trowa still filled his only escape way.  
  
"Go?" Trowa mimicked Sano's indecision with a threatening, yet lightly teasing   
injection.   
  
Suddenly released from where he stood, Sano stepped around Trowa who   
accommodated him. "Where?"  
  
"In the auditorium."  
  
After escaping from the suddenly stifling prop room, Sano felt a new pressure as   
he walked to the auditorium. Should he be excited, delighted, indifferent?   
Without a script, the younger Sagara felt all of his usual lines falling intangible   
like dry ice smoke. He searched frantically for the Sagara determination.  
  
"You are the same Sanosuke Sagara after all." Catherine's smile made his heart   
disappear as well. It was somewhere between them now, helping pull his   
reluctant feet toward her. "Not that I didn't believe you." Her reddish-brown   
hair darker in the theater lighting, as he remembered the way the sun reflected   
off curls of crimson and gold highlights just the day before. Quite blinding in   
their vibrancy. When he didn't respond immediately, her eyebrows pulled   
upward in concern exactly mirroring her step-brother's expression from   
moments before.  
  
Sano laughed. And with the one deep belly rumble, he found himself filled   
again with personality.   
  
"What?" Catherine asked, she continued to lean against the back of one of the   
chairs. Her grin turned hesitant.  
  
He shook his head, the laughter silent but refreshingly easy. "That look—you've   
lived with Trowa way too long."  
  
Catherine breathed, humorously disbelieving the comment. "You don't say."  
  
"Actually, I must." Sano protested, "Otherwise, you're as good as an actor as he   
is at picking up another person's mannerisms in a matter of seconds."  
  
"Trowa can do that?" When Sano nodded, she added, "Can you?"  
  
"Sure, but not nearly as well. It's a more delicate touch than mine that can   
manage it naturally."  
  
Catherine's expression still hovered on a smile, "I'll take that as a compliment."  
  
"I'd like to take you to dinner, actually." Sano waited, ready for any retort from   
the object of his desire.  
  
Her smile faltered, but only for a moment.   
  
"Sure, why not?"  
  
Lets watch the clock until the morning sun does rise   
Wipe the sweat from off your brow   
All that you believe is here and now   
  
Guard down. Desires up.   
  
Sanosuke could not do the one thing that came to him most naturally. Sleep.  
  
How could he sleep again, after he had woken up next to her?  
  
And then the curses that came to mind were too foul to utter, she might hear.   
  
Reluctantly, as he confronted the awareness of her smooth arm curled over his   
chest, he tried to take a collected appraisal of the situation. Hoping that some   
resolution would come as easily. It wasn't his room. After dinner, he'd taken   
her home. Among the boxes she'd started to show him pictures, of her parents.   
The wedding that made Trowa her sibling—Catherine looked about eight. And   
Helen, who at six, in photographs incredibly favored her mother.   
  
Then the movie that Catherine had put in, a desperate attempt to stay forever.   
He had wanted to stay. And she had wanted him to stay. The rest was excuses,   
and those were easy to come by.  
  
It had struck him as strange that the woman he could never have was right with   
him, together at that moment. And then he had left thinking far behind.  
  
"Don't carry too much if you can't."  
  
"I can."  
  
She moved, and even as she loosened her hold on him, Sano felt a desperate   
need for her.   
  
Could have had more doubt   
Wipe the shadow from your eyes   
  
"Where is this place?" Sano couldn't deny his hunger, but was a bit offset by   
how the breakfast was just as satisfying as everything else Catherine did.   
  
"Twenty minutes away. But it's really a temporary move until I get   
confirmation on the sale down state. It'll be so wonderful to cater from some   
place that is truly mine." Catherine made sure his plate was properly full,   
walking back and forth in a way that Sano found quite distracting, her hair   
caught up in a turban shaped towel. Her smell of soap carrying over the   
breakfast aroma for only a moment.  
  
If it wasn't for the boxes, Sano could have relaxed. But desperate hope wouldn't   
let him hold his tongue much longer. "You've got plenty of reasons not to run   
away."  
  
"Run away?" Catherine said, "I'm not running away."  
  
"Move away." Sano corrected, "Your brother's here. The apartments here are   
nice, and you've got regular customers here. Not to mention Helen . . ."  
  
"Sano," she sat down at the table and held her mug between her delicate fingers.   
"I really, I've felt like I could trust you so much since we met. Something, but . .   
. what I wanted to say was . . . truth is, I'm a horrible mother. I can't not be with   
her. I can't be so near to her. Weekends, vacations, summers, whatever . . . I   
can't do it."  
  
"You're not horrible." Sano said reflexively, watching tears shimmer in   
Catherine's eyes as she studied the surface of her coffee with blinded intent.  
  
"What if I ran into her at the Road Rage if she were to visit Trowa? Or in the   
mall? Or the grocery store? Could you imagine? 'Hi mom' in the canned goods   
section?"   
  
Sano felt scriptless again, nothing in his life was so incomplete. His family had   
always been there, more or less—regardless of the unresolved and pointless   
adoption question. He couldn't relate even as he tried to understand.   
  
"But Helen, wouldn't she want you nearby? She'll still visit you wherever you   
live. That's the way these things work, isn't it?" He watched as her face became   
as stoic as her brother's could be, even as determined tears trailed toward her   
chin.   
  
He wanted to touch her. But even after last night, he couldn't break the walls of   
separation. Who was putting them there? What a waste.  
  
*Where's you're damn Sagara determination?* He threatened himself. *Take   
what you want.* But had he already done that?  
  
Whatever words were forming, Catherine anticipated,   
  
"I can't. Don't you see, this is the sort of mistake that made Helen?"  
  
Rest your daughter while your mother cries   
You could have let him fly   
  
She dabbed her eyes with the kleenex, a bit shaken but not surprised by the   
thorough cursing she heard start as soon as she closed the door behind him.   
Gentleness was not his foremost reaction in life, but it was there. Deeply hidden   
by the bravado.  
  
She hadn't been quite prepared for it, when he'd first kissed her. Behind the first   
pressure, a second touch of emotion that she had forgotten might be there.   
Something she'd remembered from the first kisses of her youth. But Sanosuke   
was young. Too young. Young enough to forget. Forget that she'd found that   
emotion again when she touched him.  
  
I wanna hold you but my hands are tied   
I wanna stay here but I've been denied   
I wanna lie here 'til we've killed this bitter doubt   
I wanna hold you but my hands are tied   
I wanna stay here but I've been denied   
Lets watch the clock until the morning sun does rise   
Lets watch the clock until the morning sun comes out 


	14. Midas Touch

Midas Touch  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Once upon a time, there was a little girl who sat at her computer   
and decided to toss a few different anime characters from different series into a   
different sort of story. This is something like that. Lyrics brought into the mix   
by the ever talented and inspiring Catatonia—this time their song "Shore   
Leave.")  
  
"Have you heard the rumors, Sano?" Faye sank next to her younger brother and   
pulling a toothpick from the new box on the foyer desk, she crossed her arms   
and managed a favorable impression of his sour expression. They'd spent the   
better part of the evening with strike, tearing down the minimal sets that had   
been used for the summer shorts. Most of the cast was still occupied in the   
auditorium, finding entertainment in each other's company made a little more   
silly by the lateness of the hour.   
  
"Rumors?" Sano mumbled tight-lipped even as his own toothpick bounced,   
sounding as if he might have been half asleep except for the fact that he was   
balanced upright against the desk.   
  
"About the fall show?" Faye nudged him almost affectionately with her   
shoulder. Eyes narrowing as he failed to respond physically or verbally. She'd   
begun to sense a distance in him for most of the evening, at least after the snacks   
selection had started to wear thin. "Aren't you the least bit interested?"  
  
"Of course." Sano turned to look at her, his dark brown eyes flashing but still   
evidentially weary. He shook his head at her expression, letting more of his   
unruly hair dance about. "I'll be more interested in it after this hiatus is over.   
We do have almost two weeks before auditions."  
  
"Sure, sure, sure." Faye waved her hands, frustrated and consequently   
dismissive. "Well don't strain yourself with the excitement, but I'd say you   
might want to polish up on your dancing since a voice like yours isn't going to   
win you a leading role."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Sano said a little more loudly, "At least I can carry a tune,   
Miss Tone Deaf."  
  
"Barnyard tunes maybe," Faye bumped into him again musing, "Rooster-head,   
will you ever grow out of that crazy hair." She stretched even as they could   
easily hear Spike calling Julia over to check some limb or body part he'd   
apparently attempted to injure. "I know you're probably planning on inviting   
yourself along anyway, so if you wanted to come with Shin and me to . . ."  
  
"Nope, not interested."  
  
Faye started, a bit flabbergasted. It was unlike her brother not to try to nose his   
way into her daily affairs, unless . . . she started to smirk. *He's never this   
reluctant unless he's zeroing in on a girl. Could he finally be melting for   
Misao?* Suddenly confident, Faye pulled away from the desk and started   
toward the main auditorium again.  
  
"Well, two weeks can be a short time, Sano. Shin and I'll be back before   
auditions of course, make sure you do something fun in the meantime yourself."   
She winked.  
  
"Alright." Sano stuffed his hands into his pockets and continued to chew his   
toothpick thoughtfully  
  
From London to Lisbon  
And all points between  
Find people to lean on  
And one man to please...  
  
"I'm not very fond of this sort of pet store." Juri instinctively wrapped one arm   
tighter around her body, repositioning her handful of rather well stuffed   
shopping bags. Not all of them were hers, as Trowa Barton had tossed his over   
in order to disobey the 'do not play with puppies' signs taped and stuck   
everywhere.  
  
"Not my favorite either," Trowa admitted, taking a moment to wipe one puppy's   
healthy supply of slobber along the bottom of his old pair of jeans. "But I'm   
thinking I should look into getting a pet one of these days. Something to wait   
for me when I get home, I suppose."  
  
"Puppies need more attention than . . ." Juri started.  
  
"Yeah, Cathy says I should get a goldfish if I'm so determined to add pet aroma   
to my apartment." Trowa uncurled his lean figure and glanced toward the thick   
air around the aquariums. His nose curled but he took a walked to them   
anyway, leaning in as if a closer look would make the inhabitant fish more   
appealing. At that particular moment, one of the larger fish chose to attack the   
side of the tank nearest Trowa. "Oh my, that one's vicious."  
  
"Speaking of Catherine," Juri held out Trowa's purchases, unwilling to hold   
them any longer. "Whatever happened with her and Sano?"  
  
Trowa shrugged, balancing the bags on his wrist, letting his hands slip into his   
pockets as he adopted his typical slouching gait. "I didn't hear much. I guess   
Sano took Cathy out to dinner, and if I know my sister she probably humored   
him only as much as it suited her. I've tried to stay out of her romantic life as a   
rule, not that I could help or hurt it much."  
  
"She's not interested in reconciling with her ex?" Juri asked, having heard   
pieces of the story in their conversations at the museum.  
  
"Not for a lack of effort on Duo's part, that's for sure." Trowa shrugged, the   
bags rustling and then settling again to swing at his waist. "I'll never   
understand, still . . . maybe I do understand why Duo's stopped trying. Cathy   
can be pretty stubborn." He smiled a little when Juri reached out to squeeze his   
shoulder.  
  
"Sometimes we are stubborn, even when we're supposedly in love." Juri   
pondered, "Especially if something deep and unexplainable in our soul guides   
our actions . . . our emotions." The ringlets of Juri's hair trembled with the   
unspoken truth she felt in her own thoughts. "You did say that it was probably   
best for your niece . . ."  
  
Trowa watched her awhile, wondering how much Juri was changing the subject.   
He indulged in teasing her, "Damn, Juri. If only you were attracted to men . . .   
then I sure wouldn't let you be single now."  
  
Juri's grin turned playful, "Ah, Trowa, and if only you were attracted to women .   
. ."   
  
We all need someone, we all need something  
We all need...  
  
Kenshin waved one hand in front of his face, amazed at how thick the smoke   
could become even though Hajime Saitou had only finished one cigarette and   
started a second during their conference. Saitou's office was the one room in the   
Road Rage Theater that didn't have a "no smoking" sign on the door and every   
wall, not that Saitou allowed anyone else in the theater to indulge their habits in   
his most personal chamber. The red-headed writer was sitting in the stiff   
wooden chair opposite of the meticulously organized desk where Saitou was   
stacking and re-stacking the second draft of the script for the fall production. It   
seemed to Kenshin as if all the light in the room was absorbed into the glowing   
tip of Saitou's cigarette as it moved toward his lips with a pulled breath.  
  
"More comfortable with the opening scene?" Kenshin asked directly, ready to   
go home and imagining the chaos that he'd have to clean once he returned there.   
He and Kaoru had finally moved into a larger house, one where they could   
divide their children between two separate bedrooms—which also allowed them   
to have the master bedroom to themselves for once.  
  
"It's improved." Saitou answered, taking his time before commenting. "I think   
that your writing has become duller since you've taken up the family way, but   
it'll do in a pinch."  
  
Kenshin scowled, "I can't help it if a little of my happiness subconsciously slips   
out now and again."  
  
"Too true." Saitou smiled, an odd grin that Kenshin resented simply because of   
the other man's reluctance to give any compliment without a barb.  
  
"Well, I'll be off then, that I will." Kenshin adopted his characteristic speaking   
patterns, while allowing a little annoyance to slip into his tone. "It'll be   
interesting to see what you can do with this piece, that it will. Perhaps your   
directing will not peel back it's many layers. I guess I'll have to wait and see."  
  
Saitou refrained from commenting, but as Kenshin closed the office door behind   
him, Saitou extinguished the end of his cigarette in the ashtray. The ashtray that   
happened to rest in front of his wife's framed picture like an altar. He stared at   
the picture for a moment, then re-stacked the script of the play again.  
  
I'm lustless, lifeless  
The scent of my skin  
It means nothing without you  
That's where it begins...  
We all need someone  
We all need something  
We all need...we all need...  
  
The phone wasn't ringing, and Sano couldn't help but wonder if he'd truly   
managed to piss Misao off. The plucky young girl had more persistence than a   
celebrity's fangirl as she'd tried to single-handedly revitalize his bachelor's life.   
But the brush off at the pool, and the corresponding absence of interest on his   
own part must have painted the picture for her.  
  
And as a result, he found very few reasons to pull him from bed that morning.   
  
If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself a week ago under the   
sheets in another room, holding the woman he'd always dreamed about. Almost   
remember the way his fingers slid through her hair until they were tangled in her   
red-brown curls. And how small, how small her shoulders were and . . .  
  
Sano's eyes opened. He couldn't remember without realizing exactly how small   
she had been while next to him, even though the very next morning, the last   
moments in which he saw her, she had seemed so angry and stubborn. It wasn't   
right that she felt some need to grow two feet beyond herself in order to face the   
daylight. And two feet beyond him. She had left him behind.  
  
And no matter how many times he did rise from his own bed, whenever he had   
the urge to look out his window and across the pool, her small car was not   
sitting where he'd found it before.  
  
*Damn it* Sano sat up scowling. He hated waking up angry, alone and angry.   
Angry at Catherine that he was alone, and that she was alone, and that he had   
wanted to do something about that. That evening he had felt as if he knew her   
better than anyone else, her pain was something that he could comfort. If she   
would let him.   
  
"Don't carry too much if you can't."   
  
"I can."  
  
The phone rang.  
  
"Hello." Sanosuke answered, half believing that through all of his   
contemplations Catherine might call.  
  
"Hey, what are you doing home? I thought you'd be out with Misao. Just   
wanted to let you know that Shin and I made it alright and all."  
  
Catherine didn't have his phone number.  
  
"I was sleeping. Thanks."  
  
"Riiiiight." Faye's voice was distant but still obnoxiously exuberant, she was   
obviously quite happy. "Yeah, you go right back to sleep, rooster head."  
  
"Sleeping." Sano repeated, even though Faye had disconnected the line, most   
likely more interested in whatever or whoever was on her end of the world.   
Stretching, letting himself rumble deep in his chest, Sano went from the bed   
directly to the window. Not that there was anything for him to see. He pulled   
the blinds open completely, letting the afternoon sun sparkle on the patterns of   
dust between himself and the pane of glass.  
  
There had to be something more interesting out there, he thought to himself.   
  
Catherine was out there, somewhere.  
  
Get out, for your sakes  
Do you want it?  
No promises are spoken  
Take it or leave it, do you like it?  
And no man's heart gets broken...  
  
"If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be?"  
  
"I hate that question."  
  
"So do I."  
  
Juri leaned back against her side of the booth and let her eyes wonder around to   
the faces of the other individuals seeking ice cream parlor enjoyments. She   
wondered if she'd ever seen any of them before, on the street, in the theater, even   
in that same parlor in the past. Would she remember? "I think," she began, her   
tone playful, but brimming with honesty, "truthfully, I wish I could remember   
who Shiori was in high school. I can't, you see. She remembers me, apparently,   
and Ruka, certainly. And I think Ruka remembered her."  
  
"You don't remember her at all?" Trowa's eyes never left her face, curiously   
appraising her. "When I came to the Road Rage it seemed that you two had   
quite a history."  
  
"No," Juri answered, tasting her dessert again before continuing, "but I've found   
her quite alluring because she's so ordinary and beautifully forgettable. And I   
don't want to be forgetful. As long as I remember her then I'm a better person, I   
guess that's the crazy logic behind it all."  
  
"You think to much."  
  
"You're one to comment on that personality flaw," Juri smirked, earning another   
smile from the quiet actor. She was getting used to how much he could look   
like Ruka when he bent his head forward or when she managed to amuse him   
until his eyes sparkled. "I've never asked why you left the Glass House,   
although, I'd imagine it wasn't for the same reason as our newest   
troublemakers."  
  
"Are you asking now?" Trowa said, letting a flavor of coyness temper his tone.   
"Well, once Une retired and Chang was hired in as the new director nearly half   
of the cast left, including Dorothy and Nichol who were at odds with the new   
man as soon as they first spoke to each other." Trowa folded his arms across his   
chest, "I had no reason to stay, no reason to leave—but my home had changed   
beyond repair. Nothing would be the same after the Lady left, and I wasn't   
certain if I was ready to rebuild. It's easier to leave than to be left. However,   
Saitou hunted me down as soon as he heard I was free. And I couldn't turn   
down the offer."  
  
"Easier to leave than to be left . . ." Juri raised her eyebrows, "Didn't know that   
you'd take such a position, Trowa. I thought you'd be the sort to see things   
through."  
  
"I was," Trowa's arms held himself more tightly, "but that position is a lesson   
that I'm just learning, Juri. Since it happens *to* me, more often than not . . ."   
  
"Love's a funny thing." Juri said plainly.  
  
"Who said I was talking about love?"  
  
They sat in sick vulnerability, until they were staring at melted ice cream soup.  
  
Trowa spoke after the moment had passed, "Was I supposed to comfort you   
first?"  
  
Juri chuckled, lightly relieved.   
  
One day to another  
I'm head over heels  
One room to another  
It sets the same scene...  
We all need someone  
We all need something  
We all need...we all need...  
  
"Don't even tell me you're ordering the same thing, again, tonight—the same   
thing that you ordered for lunch?" Faye caught Shin's arm even as he opened his   
mouth to reply to the waiter's request. When Shin failed to refute her comment,   
the limber girl mock-swooned across the back of her chair. "Sweetie, we're   
going to be here for a week, you can at least try a few new and different things,   
no?"  
  
Shin shared a glance with the waiter, who seemed sympathetic. "Does the chef   
mind if I have the fish again?"  
  
"No, sir, not at all."  
  
Faye rattled her request to the waiter who only snapped his pencil lead once   
she'd finished, and at that point she leaned into her companion's space, her head   
propped up in the palm of her hand. "I suppose I shouldn't complain since   
you're so loyal and all . . . I do love you for it."  
  
Shin relaxed, mostly since the waiter had left. Something about Faye's attempt   
at an alluring smile melted his frustration at her domineering personality. It was   
the Sagara determination that had introduced them in the first place, for which   
he was increasingly grateful.  
  
It was half a minute later that he snapped himself away from that line of   
thinking and realized that Faye had changed subjects to rattle on about the   
relatively distasteful styles of every other individual in the room. She was loud   
enough that she was certainly being overheard. Shin sighed, grimacing his   
unspoken apologies—not that they were likely to be recognized or   
acknowledged as such.  
  
"Oh dear," Faye exclaimed, fanning at him with her napkin, "You aren't   
choking are you, what a horrid expression."  
  
"I'm fine," Shin smiled weakly, "You never did explain, Faye, and I still find it   
very strange that your brother didn't try to tag along with this vacation during   
your break from working. You did ask, right? He's not going to suddenly pop   
up . . . " Shin glanced around, teasing.  
  
"I asked," Faye began to tear small pieces from the bread set in front of her,   
"But I think he's so wrapped up with Misao, he had other things planned." Faye   
tilted her head, "Or rather, I'm sure Misao had things planned for Sanosuke."  
  
Shin hesitated, "Misao?"  
  
"Yup," Faye nodded, "Remember the little gal who came with us to . . ."  
  
"I do," Shin interrupted, "Sano said he was staying with Misao? I don't see how   
that's quite likely . . ."  
  
"It certainly seemed that way, and he was sleeping in way way too late this   
morning for even his normal sleeping patterns." Faye chewed, "Why?" She   
waited while Shin took his time responding, her quick paced enthusiasm slowed   
by the attractive way his hair parted and his nose tilted. Even his fingers, as they   
gripped the edge of the table with new pressure.  
  
"I'm confused," Shin admitted at last, "because Misao is dating someone else."  
  
Faye blinked, "Are you sure?" She asked with unexplainable calmness.  
  
Every man for himself  
Just for a little while  
Every man for himself  
Just for a short while...  
  
From his place on the catwalk, Mikage Souji could still see the brief glow of red   
from where the director had seated himself in approximately the third row away   
from the stage.   
  
Mikage had found the initial design for the necessary lighting balanced on the   
control panel of the observation room. After the initial interest of perusing the   
written words and gaining clear pictures in his mind of the final produce, he had   
gone to sit on the catwalk and imaginatively place each wire in his brain while   
examining the room's dimensions and difficulties.  
  
It was from that point that he saw the infrequent sparks from the darkened   
auditorium.   
  
Apparently, others worked well in the quietness of solitude and shadows. Not   
that Mikage was particularly surprised; most artists found comfort in that silent   
space now and again.  
  
You could come around  
We could fool around  
And get down  
Head over heals  
It's the way it could be...  
Take it or leave it  
Just come as you please  
  
"It's raining."   
  
"I noticed." She held the door open reassuring herself that she wasn't surprised.  
  
"It's actually, still, raining on me." Sanosuke's hands were empty, although even   
as he drove the short distance he couldn't imagine what he could have brought to   
her. Unless he went to see what it was that she needed.  
  
"How did you find this place?"  
  
Sano grinned, devilishly charmed by her uncertainty. Especially since it wasn't   
openly hostile. "I have my ways of finding out these things . . . not that I can   
stop it from being very wet . . ."  
  
"Come in, I guess." Catherine pulled back.  
  
Sano stepped past her, very aware of her body as he slipped by—feeling the   
extra distance and all the other armor she'd built around herself. He took in a   
quick glance of the small place, "Why the heck are you living here? You could   
have stayed at your old place until your deal went through, right?"  
  
"I was moving so that I wouldn't be troubled by unwelcome visitors." She   
crossed her arms in a way that reminded Sano of one of the Road Rage actors, a   
defensive stance. A closing off.  
  
"You can't mean me." Sano protested, "You didn't even know me then."  
  
"No, I didn't mean you." Catherine agreed, "Not that you changed anything   
either."  
  
Sano frowned, but passed over the cutting remark to ask, "Who do you mean?   
Trowa?"  
  
"No." Catherine laughed immediately, her fingers loosening from around her   
arms. "No, not Trowa. I didn't want my husb-my ex-husband, rather, to find   
me."  
  
"You seem to go out of your way to be hard to find, Miss Bloom." Sano said,   
pointedly. He was still standing, realizing how much taller he was in her small,   
temporary home. "You could have simply moved in with me . . ." He added   
lightly, flirting, testing.  
  
She laughed again, almost encouraging until she said, "Oh, Sano, you're so   
refreshingly young."  
  
"That's not troubling you, is it?" Sano said, more than a tad cross in his reaction,   
"It didn't seem to bother you before."  
  
"No." Catherine said, then taking a long pause as if reconsidering her answer.   
"I don't know. You are young, so . . . beautifully young."  
  
"Dammit," Sano growled, his features turning dark, "You've got a strange way   
of seeing what you want to see, Catherine."  
  
"It's called coping." Catherine's voice lowering in turn. She still had her hand   
on the doorknob, neither had moved for some time.  
  
"The way I see it," Sano fixed her with his stare, "You're doing a lot of running   
and not much coping at all. How can you cope with what you've ignored all   
together? And I'm not just talking about Helen . . . or that messed up ex-  
husband, whoever he is. It's me too. I don't just . . . "  
  
"You have no idea what you're talking about." Catherine said with an odd   
detachment. Her fingers only lightly touching the door at that point.  
  
"Like hell I don't," With great effort, Sano broke the statue like stillness that   
held him apart from her. As if folding over her with a tight embrace might pull   
her back to the moments that they'd shared together. The smell of her hair   
hauntingly familiar.  
  
"Sano, how did you get so soaked?" Catherine's fingers trapped between her   
face and his chest. Increasingly pushing herself back and away.  
  
"Fine, you turn all maternal since I'm a bit wet, but you don't care one bit about   
the strong emotions of those who love you." Sano said quietly.  
  
When he dared look down, Catherine's expression was beyond his   
understanding. Wonder, somewhat mingled with the fear of discovery. She said   
quiet simply, "But that's always been the problem, you see. I've always cared   
too deeply for the one I can never love."  
  
"Hell, you've got me now, girl."  
  
We all need...  
Someone, somehow  
Somewhere... 


	15. When I Hear You Sing

When I Hear You Sing  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Some cans once opened don't seem very easy to close. Still, if it's   
snowing inches and inches and you happened to open a can of Southern   
Sunshine and Enjoyment, who's to blame you for leaving the can open?   
Returning to my endless series of cross series anime characters in an alternate   
reality decorated by the lyrics of Catatonia's "Way Beyond Blue.")  
  
Way Beyond Blue   
While there's a show left to perform  
Smooth down your hair, and put your make-up on  
You'll face another night in too,  
So close your mind, no-one will follow you  
There in your eyes, I see, way beyond blue   
  
  
"Sitting this one out, Miss 'Valentine'?"  
  
Faye glanced up as Spike Spiegel slipping into the chair next to hers. He was   
holding a rolled piece of music that certainly seemed as if it had seen better   
days. Leaning forward in his seat, arms propped up on the row ahead of him,   
Spike seemed uncommonly attentive to the business on stage. Earlier, Utena   
had been trying to get enough people to move the piano onto the stage and now   
she was again on the stage adjusting the instrument by turns and inches while   
the pianist looked on.  
  
Apparently not listening to Faye's absence of an answer, Spike whistled,   
"Wherever did Saitou dig that relic up?"  
  
"Not nervous are you, pal?" Faye said, letting a little rivalry slip into her voice.   
She was used to being the underdog actor at the Road Rage and watching a   
seasoned veteran sweat it a little amused her to no end.  
  
"I just didn't think he'd seriously do something like this. Big production, big   
lights, big noise, big headache." Spike groaned. "What the heck is Saitou doing   
dragging us through all of this rigmarole? I thought we were supposed to be a   
cutting edge, gritty independent theater? What are our regular patrons going to   
think about a cheesy musical? I hate this."  
  
"Uh, I thought Saitou said that we should think of it as more of a darkly hip and   
modern vaudeville?" Faye laughed at his frustration.   
  
"Of course, Julia is thrilled beyond belief. She hums to herself enough as it is.   
And she does have a beautiful voice . . . but now she's wailing to whatever's on   
the radio whenever and wherever."  
  
Faye snickered, not trying to hide the laugh behind her hand any longer.   
  
"I'd like to see you go through the audition, then!" Spike challenged, brows   
furrowed.   
  
Faye turned green, "I'm trying not to think about that too much. At least four   
other gals have tried out on my song-I don't know if I should keep it or dump it   
for something new so quickly . . . I . . ." she shared at mutually nauseated glance   
with Spike and hurriedly added, "Let's change the subject."  
  
Spike nodded, "Maybe if we simply sit back here and go last . . ."  
  
"Oh look, it's Sano. This will be worth a few laughs." Faye slumped back into   
seat, hoping that it might absorb her or at least have some pepto-bismol effect.  
  
"Where's your brother been keeping himself?" Spike said, "As way of gossip   
and distraction, of course."  
  
"Your guess is almost as good as mine at this point." Faye shrugged, nuzzling   
her shoulders deeper into the cushion, imagining that she was becoming   
invisible. "Strange as it is, Sano's clammed up tighter than an oyster, as they   
say. Did I tell you that Shin ate so much oyster last week? I kept telling him   
that it wasn't good for him, but . . ."  
  
"Did he ever latch onto Trowa's sister?" Spike asked, watching as Sano passed   
the audition music on to the pianist, a young woman with dark hair that seemed   
a shimmering blue in certain lights. "Damn, I'm glad not all of these are singing   
roles."  
  
"Trowa's sister . . . he hasn't mentioned her in a while. Wonder if she burned   
him. Still, odd he didn't mention it. Oh look. Don't tell me . . . he's singing   
'Sunset Boulevard' what a predictable lout. He just likes singing 'ass' see . . . just   
like him."  
  
"He did clip that with some relish," Spike laughed, leaning back and apparently   
relaxing a bit more. " 'We do whatever pays the wages' . . . I can't believe we're   
all jumping through the hoops like this. Did you hear that Saitou's hired a   
choreographer? We have to pass that scrutiny as well . . ."   
  
"Dancing's fun," Faye said somewhat distracted, and trying to look bored in   
case she might convince herself to feel that way, "I thought we agreed not to talk   
about this."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
*While there's a show left to perform*  
  
"Thank you, Sagara." Hajime Saitou waved his hand in order to shoo the overly   
eager rooster head from the stage. Sano was guaranteed a role with his solid   
baritone; however, Saitou was moderately surprised at the boy's lack of   
characteristic enthusiasm. Or rather, it was hard to describe whatever it was that   
Sano seemed to be lacking. The boyish confidence still hovered in his smile, but   
something Sano hadn't left at home followed him to the theater. Saitou made a   
mental note and studied his written ones with some concern. Next to him,   
Kenshin Himura seemed peacefully content.  
  
"If anyone else is going to sing either 'Memory' or 'On My Own' or 'Sunrise   
Sunset' get down here now." Saitou called out, "My patience is wearing thin."   
Glancing up, a dangerously mocking gleam came to his eye, "Which of these is   
your song Ms. Catalonia?"  
  
"Oh none of those, Saitou dear," Dorothy's nose wrinkled and she tossed her   
hair back with a playfully insulted air. "I simply have to escape this audition a   
little earlier than I first suspect. Could you fit me in now?"  
  
"Faye, which one of these is *your* song?" Saitou turned his head just a little   
bit more to look at the other woman who seemed a bit out of breath from   
hurrying down the aisle.   
  
"Take a wild guess, Saitou." Faye's personality suddenly sparked with a new   
confidence at the conflict. "I'm sure I'll surprise you."  
  
"I'm sure you'll be fine, Miss Sagara." Kenshin smiled kindly, trying to balance   
Saitou's intimidation tactics at auditions.  
  
"I'm sure you will." Saitou said sternly, ignoring Kenshin and shuffling his   
papers and reorganizing them again. "Alright, Ms. Catalonia, give Kozue your   
music and we'll see what it is you're bringing to the fall show."  
  
As taxing as that part of the audition was, Saitou noticed something when   
Dorothy crossed the stage. She was an undeniably talented actor, both on and   
off that elevated floor.   
  
The song was a bit sassy, and Saitou was certain that he could not recognize it.   
He wondered if the edginess of the song simply was Dorothy's interpretation of   
the melody, "I will achieve my destiny, my stars' ascent a certainty-I know that I   
could never fall from grace . . . I'm far too clever . . . "  
  
"Well, that's certainly appropriate." Faye muttered, Kenshin glanced at her and   
shook his head for her to be quiet. The tune slipped across chords and keys as   
something contemporary might, Dorothy leading with her voice.   
  
"Interesting." Saitou said simply, as Dorothy reclaimed her music from the   
young sight-reader.   
  
Without comment, Dorothy gathered the rest of her things and left.  
  
"I have to follow that?" Faye grimaced. She could have sworn she heard   
merciless laughter from the back seats of the auditorium.  
  
*Smooth down your hair, and put your make-up on*  
  
"Okay, that wasn't as painful as it could have been." Sano said, wide-eyed and   
scrambling for nice things to say. However, when it came to his sister,   
sympathy was in short supply. Affectionate riling was more acceptable.  
  
"She really has . . . an interesting interpretation of what might have otherwise   
been an overly familiar piece." Trowa Barton stepped forward, joining the   
group that was relaxing in the very back of the auditorium. Sano had slipped   
into Faye's old seat next to Spike as soon as his portion of the audition was   
completed.   
  
"That's the nicest way I've ever heard anyone say 'tone-deaf' before, Barton."   
Spike grinned lopsidedly. "What are you still doing here, pal. Thought you   
would have fled the scene hours ago. Didn't you audition first."  
  
"Right, right." Trowa nodded, glancing from Spike's face and passing over   
Nichol's to rest on Sanosuke. "I was chatting with Utena about the acoustics of   
the piano and how she could stop fidgeting over the placement of the keyboard   
in relation to the altitude of the ceiling and the displacement of the catwalks."   
He almost smiled, "I didn't know she was so musically inclined, did you?"  
  
The others shook their heads, except Nichol whose scowl was etching itself   
more solidly into his face with each second Trowa remained. Trowa didn't   
notice as he was still passing his attention between Spike and Sano.  
  
Trowa continued, "Well, we'll have plenty of space for extras. I almost think   
our stage manager is going to audition herself."  
  
"That'd be something to see." Juri slipped up next to them as well, after   
watching Faye mop herself up from the stage floor and safely move toward the   
front seat where she swooned like a drowned swan.  
  
"How'd your audition go?" Trowa asked.  
  
"Honestly," Juri smiled, "I'm glad that I put back that sentimental copy of 'Hello,   
Dolly' and focused on something else."  
  
"I told you," Trowa said softly, "I heard that some new guy auditioned after I   
left the first time."  
  
"Yeah," Sano spoke up, and took a look around before continuing in a hushed   
voice, "Some bloke who sings jingles for commercials. Had a great voice-for a   
tenor." Sano winked. "As far as acting skills, I dunno." He leaned back and   
crossed his arms behind his head.  
  
"His name is Saionji Kyoichi." Nichol spoke up for the first time since Trowa   
had appeared. "And he's a superior tenor, which sounds as if we'll have to   
endure his more endearing personality flaws for the rest of the season. Unless   
we can convince Saitou that talent isn't a priority in this audition."  
  
"Speaking of talent, listen." Juri interrupted, intently focused on the stage.  
  
"That's interesting," Sano mused, "Didn't know Shiori had such a set of lungs   
on her."  
  
"Carries well." Spike commented, over Nichol's less friendly, "She's loud."  
  
"Whatever you think," Sano chuckled, "She certainly sings 'Memory' better than   
my sister!"  
  
*You'll face another night in too*  
  
"I wasn't expecting you."  
  
"It's alright if I visit, isn't it?" Trowa hesitated, a bit set off by Catherine's less   
than presentable appearance. 'You look like you could use some company. Is   
this a bad time?"  
  
"Stop shuffling, come on in." Catherine said weakly, her eyes drooping to study   
the carpet and the appraised the sloppy half-unpacked apartment.  
  
"Looks . . . like you've made some progress." Trowa nodded, clearing a space   
so he could sit on Catherine's couch. She immediately sank next to him and put   
her head on his shoulder. Responding, Trowa apologized, "I should have helped   
you move, but I have fewer obligations now-could I lend a hand with anything?"  
  
Catherine mumbled something incoherent into his shirt.  
  
"Maybe later." Trowa said, no longer interested in what he was saying as his   
confusion compounded.   
  
"I said, it's about time you've come to see the place." Catherine nuzzled herself   
under Trowa's arm and sighed deeply.  
  
"I wasn't certain, you were so concerned about Duo just happening to visit you   
that I thought maybe I should stay away as well."   
  
"Never mind that, how was work?" Catherine asked.  
  
Trowa balanced his long legs against the table in front of the couch and laughed   
a bit, the deep volume of the sound vibrating against Catherine's ear. "Beyond   
interesting. Saitou's given the green light to one of Kenshin Himura's semi-  
musicals. The audition is a longer process this time, and today I got to hear   
more renditions of 'Music of the Night'-let's just say I won't be going to see   
Phantom any time soon."  
  
Catherine laughed silently.   
  
"Are you okay, sis?" Trowa asked, ducking his chin and trying to see her   
expression through all of her curls.   
  
"All things considered?" Catherine said dryly. "I'm just fine."  
  
Trowa nodded, quietly examining the disarray around him that was so unlike the   
meticulously detailed and maternal girl he'd grown up with. So much had   
changed in such a short time. The Glass House had fallen. Catherine and Duo   
had finalized their divorce. And Heero . . .  
  
"Have you had dinner?" Catherine said suddenly, sitting up straighter so that   
their eyes could meet. She let her fingers run across his stomach, playing with   
the folds of his button down shirt. "I was making soup earlier. I'm sure it's still   
sitting on the stove."  
  
"That sounds good." Trowa smiled at the familiar comfort of her inquiry.   
"What would I do without you?"  
  
"What, indeed." Catherine let out a tired breath, before mirroring his grin. "I'll   
go get some bowls and spoons and . . ."  
  
Catherine managed to pull herself away from the couch and veering around   
several towers of unpacked brown boxes, headed toward the already well-lit   
room that passed as the kitchen. Trowa watched her, wondering at how thin she   
was and then chastising himself realized how thin he was. Not that they were   
related, but stress seemed to have identical reactions in their bodies.   
  
"Hey, sis," Trowa called after her, "I was meaning to ask you, how did it go   
with Sano last week?"  
  
Filling the space before her answer, something sounding like a plastic bowl   
bounced against the floor along with a cry of "Oh how clumsy of me." Then   
Catherine was again in the doorway, standing in the middle of it, without props   
and an unreadable expression. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well, you did go to dinner with him?" Trowa lightly teased, "I was there when   
you left together, remember?"  
  
"Oh, that." Catherine said after a moment. "It was nice."  
  
"Nice?" Trowa said with more than a little disbelief. "I'd imagine it was either   
great or downright awful. I was sure you'd have some story for me."  
  
"It's was nothing much," Catherine disappeared into the kitchen again. "It was   
nice to get out and do something besides feeding other people."  
  
"And . . ." Trowa prompted. Trying to decipher her true expression through the   
walls.  
  
"And nothing . . . like I said."   
  
*So close your mind, no one will follow you*  
  
"Are those the final casting lists?"   
  
"Yes, Miss Catalonia." Saitou took another thumbtack and finished placing the   
sheets of paper on the cork announcement board in the Road Rage foyer.   
"You're back soon, I thought you had business to attend to."  
  
"I've taken care of that, for now." Dorothy said, "Since I was in the   
neighborhood I thought I'd stop and see who's who this time around."  
  
"Nosy, aren't you?"  
  
"What do you expect?" Dorothy laughed politely, "And so intriguing, having us   
audition before letting us see Himura's script."  
  
"We want the best people possible in every role." Saitou dismissed her   
underlying protest.  
  
"Well, I like seeing my name at the top of the list." Dorothy purred, "I can rest   
easy then knowing my talents are being put to good use."  
  
"Rest assured, madam, we would do nothing less." The tone of Saitou's voice   
just as playful. "It was rather obvious who we wanted to do what. Himura and I   
agreed rather unanimously."  
  
"What's this?" Dorothy said with put on surprise, "Faye Valentine has been   
reassigned as the stage manager?"  
  
"This is the theater," answered Saitou, crossing the foyer to retrieve his hat and   
coat. "The best members can cover a variety of tasks."  
  
"You'll make me lighting director next." Dorothy said still perusing the list, her   
eyebrow raised.   
  
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Saitou tipped his hat, "Good day."  
  
"Good day." Dorothy echoed. She continued to look at the list for several   
moments before calling out, "I can wait as long as you can. Why don't you   
come out and look?"  
  
"I was waiting for Saitou to leave."  
  
"I'm sure." Dorothy turned sideways to better see Shiori as she came from the   
near hall. The plain girl holding her head high and meeting Dorothy's gaze   
directly. Dorothy fought outwardly expressing her amusement as the child still   
felt that she needed to prove herself. Even though the hierarchy had long ago   
been determined.   
  
Shiori stood watching the list for some time, as if the names might disappear or   
change if she blinked.  
  
Dorothy's voice filled the quiet foyer, "Don't worry, you are there. Right below   
myself."  
  
*There in your eyes, I see, way beyond blue* 


	16. Passing Through

Passing Through, Letting Go   
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Indulging, Indulges, Integument—take your pick. The gang at the   
Road Rage is my little pet fanfic at the present. Mingling characters from a few   
different anime shows I enjoy and piling them all on top of each other in a little   
alternate reality world I made for them. The other significant consistency I   
should acknowledge is the ever-influential Catatonia—this time supplying the   
lyrics of their song 'Lost Cat.')  
  
  
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave   
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit   
you into my day planner."  
  
*beep*  
  
"Fit me into your day planner? As if, baby brother. You'd better be at rehearsal   
tomorrow morning at ten. Just be grateful it's an information sharing meeting   
and you won't have to think too much. Where are you anyway?"  
  
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave   
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit   
you into my day planner."  
  
*beep*  
  
"Sano, it's Juri. I was wondering if you still wanted to carpool to the theater?   
You know where I live."  
  
"C'mon, did you really expect to find me in? This is Sanosuke Sagara,. Leave   
your excuse for calling and if I ever bother to check this machine, I'll try to fit   
you into my day planner."  
  
*beep*  
  
" . . . hi . . ."  
  
Rolling over immediately, Sanosuke picked up telephone, but just as soon as   
he'd pulled the receiver to his ear, he realized he had nothing in mind to say.   
"Cathy?"  
  
The line was open.  
  
*Lost cat, in off the street, black and white . . .*  
  
Juri surveyed the damage done to her apartment and tried to decide that she   
liked it. After a maddening obsession with framing her own work, she'd   
followed through with hanging each piece on any available wall space. Starting   
in her living room and inching into the hall. The creating was therapeutic in its   
own way. The display symbolic that she'd dealt with each and put them up as   
proof of her own survival. She would not forget. Determined not to simply   
move on, she would work her way in.  
  
The sketch of the city street, dark with shadows and the only welcoming pull the   
light glow from the door that promised warmth inside its embrace. The   
imitation of a piece at the museum, one that with only brown colors felt a cozy   
friend. Only two of a series of efforts to understand what was heaviest in her   
own mind.  
  
And seeing them externally, she felt her spirit lighten.  
  
Determined to enjoy the afternoon, she tried Sano's telephone number again.   
Even though the boy had ignored her call earlier, she'd seen his car in the lot and   
it was late enough by any late sleeper's standards. At the busy signal, she sighed   
and shook her head. Perhaps she didn't really want Sano's carefree and reckless   
entertainment. With the next speed dial, she reached Trowa's answering   
machine impressively dull compared to the younger Sagara. She didn't leave a   
message, deciding that she'd relied on Trowa for a bit too much of her outside   
activities.  
  
The idea that crossed her mind was strangely appealing. She was ready to move   
in other directions, but a conversation full of doubts worried her.  
  
Resolved, she pulled the old invitation from the clutter of notes near the   
telephone.  
  
"Call anytime. Shiori."  
  
"Maybe it's time." Juri said aloud, studying the phone in her hand and   
imagining her fingers dialing the number over and over.  
  
*If you go, I'll come without a fight.*  
  
Ten o'clock. Saitou took a glance around the room, finding the actors clustered   
in various corners, none of them committing to their assignments as of yet,   
enjoying the few seconds of their freedom that remained before they chained   
themselves to their scripts and duties.  
  
"Everyone's here, boss," Faye said, she had a pencil tucked behind her ear and   
the tip was already well worn. She had retrieved the mountain of scripts and   
was trying to balance them bent almost half-way over like a heavy laden willow.   
  
"Fine." Saitou nodded curtly, "Where's Kenshin?"  
  
"Finishing his meeting with Utena. Boss, I've been meaning to ask you.   
Generous as it is, why am *I* stage manager?"  
  
"I couldn't have my choreographer burdened with such tasks as well." Saitou   
said, waving his gloved hand toward the stage where Faye immediately   
deposited the scripts and wiped a pale arm across her brow. His expressionless   
face now seemed to glow with a pleasant thought. "Her fencing hobby is   
coming in quite handy."   
  
Faye made a face, refusing to ask the obvious questions. "I'll just take this in the   
back and read for a while." She grabbed the topmost script and snuck away   
while Saitou began calling in his actors.  
  
In the back, she spotted her brother dressed in white and most visible in the   
darker shadows. His arms were crossed and his head thrown back in the classic   
'bored Sagara' pose. Nearby was Spike, sitting in one of the back seats and   
leaning as far away as possible. As she approached, she got a better look at their   
companion, a solidly built man with a permanent lift to his chin. Even the   
waves of his hair vibrated of desired aristocracy.   
  
"Don't even try it on this one, buddy," Sano warned, earnest even with the   
laughter in his tone.   
  
"What's up?" Faye asked innocently.  
  
"My dear, what a charming voice you have." The newcomer offered his hand,   
twisting Faye's amiable enough handshake into a suave gesture destined for his   
lips. "What part are you playing, princess?"  
  
"Uh, you're *manager*." Faye pulled her hand back immediately, and giggled   
sarcastically. "And who are you?"  
  
"Call me Saionji, and you will find that I'm the new found talent in this   
production." The fellow seemed to Faye as if he had a chronic back disorder as   
he switched from one gallant pose to the next. After a moment he seemed   
perplexed that no one had commented. "New found to you, perhaps. But my   
name is well known across the city, I assure you."  
  
"I'm sure." Faye said, dismissing the new idiot and scolding her brother.   
"Where were you yesterday? I called several times and kept getting your   
damned machine."  
  
"Do not scorn this fair lady, brother." Saionji interjected, somehow missing the   
spontaneous laughter from the seats behind him.  
  
"That's right," Faye said without turning, "He is a rather lousy brother."  
  
Sano lifted his hands in defense, "Sleeping, went out for a little while, busy."  
  
"Perhaps your time would be better spent with me." Saionji let his eyelids droop   
as he appraised Faye's figure—which for once was rather well covered with her   
sweatshirt and shorts.  
  
"My time is taken." Faye wrinkled her nose, "And so is yours, I do believe."   
She held up a hand to her ear, "Why yes, I do hear the director calling."  
  
"Did you hear that Utena is coaching us in fencing?" Trowa slipped in the back   
doors, glancing around and glad that he wasn't obviously walking in late.   
  
"Trowa, dear, meet Saionji." Faye pulled the green-eyed actor forward, at the   
same time stepping around him and escaping into the foyer.  
  
"Hi." Trowa half-waved and offered a hand, still glancing over his shoulder to   
where Faye had made her sudden exit.  
  
"Trowa . . . Barton, would it be?" Saionji slowly took both of his arms and   
crossed them over his chest.   
  
"Right." Trowa withdrew his extended hand, and glanced between Sano and   
Spike, who shrugged. "Do I know you?" Trowa tilted his head to one side,   
trying to remember if he'd seen the proud man before.  
  
"I don't see why you wouldn't." Saionji frowned, "But it seems that most of the   
actors at the Road Rage have internalized their artistic lives and are unfamiliar   
with the talent in the rest of the city." Saionji glanced around the dark theater,   
Saitou was handing out scripts to those actors who'd made their way to the front.   
"Anyway, I wouldn't have heard of *you* at all, except that I happened to be at   
a social gathering and engaged in a conversation that seemed rather fixed on the   
news that it's being said that you're batting for the other team," Saionji added   
with a knowing lilt, "If you get my drift."  
  
"Excuse me?" Sano interrupted glaring at Saionji violently. He stepped forward   
to stand just behind Trowa who had simply stiffened with the comment. "Are   
you looking for a fight, mister?" Sano growled, noticing that Spike had stood as   
well.  
  
"Don't tell me you're his boyfriend. . ." Saionji raised his eyebrows elegantly,   
"And here I thought it was only a rumor."  
  
Before Sano could make good of his promise, Trowa held out his hand.   
"Thanks, Sano." Trowa said in a dry, emotionless tone. "But I don't bring   
things like this to work anymore, Mr. Saionji. I'd suggest you do the same."  
  
I'm sick of hearing damning words of you   
come cursing through my head  
And I'm too proud to sit here chasing time   
wasting things we shared  
or thought we had.  
  
"You should have seen the look on Saionji's face when he found out the lead   
tenor role was a drag queen." Juri slid into the seat next to Trowa and while her   
voice remained cheerful, she gave him a concerned look. "He's barely changed   
his tune, and is now boasting about how diversified his acting ability can be."  
  
"I'm fine, Juri." Trowa rested his chin against his joined thumbs. "He didn't   
mean anything by what he said, and I'm not concerned about it." Leaning back,   
Trowa gave her a tired smile. "Some people aren't the most tactful."  
  
"You're kinder than I would be." Juri admitted, "I was a bit concerned, since   
you hadn't been very obvious since you've been here and . . ."  
  
"Obvious?" Trowa raised his eyebrows, "It's not going to be my most obvious   
characteristic, Juri."  
  
"I know, I know." Juri joked lightly, but was a bit taken back by the new   
confrontational tinting to his words. "Anyway, changing the subject and feeling   
like a silly girl, congratulations on scoring the narrator role. Spike's more than a   
little jealous."  
  
"But he doesn't have to sing," Trowa chuckled, still a bit off and Juri watched   
him anxiously push his palms along his legs to his knees. "That's a big relief for   
our Mr. Spiegel. Not to mention that he gets to kiss his fiancé on stage. They've   
been practicing diligently is what I hear." He took one hand and rubbed the   
back of his neck.  
  
Even while his words were typical, Juri's eyes caught every unhappy gesture.   
"Trowa, I don't suppose that you want to . . . go some place else for a while?"  
  
"Damn." Trowa said, still holding the back of his neck, "I feel like I'm going to   
be sick."  
  
Glancing around, Juri made sure everyone near by was occupied somewhere   
else, "We could go, it's an easy day-Saitou doesn't need us anymore and anyone   
who is still here is only around for sentimentality's sake, or because they don't   
want to clean their apartments or something equally tedious." She kept talking   
as Trowa stared at the back of the seat in front of him.  
  
"You're kind, Juri." He looked at her, appreciative but distant still. "Please   
don't think that this is bothering me-at least not the way you think it is. I   
promise, I will be fine."  
  
Juri opened her mouth to protest, but the voice that came across was not her   
own.   
  
"Trowa, I think you've already agreed to be my knight for the evening, didn't   
you?" Dorothy smiled with her best appearance of innocence, "I'm sorry, Juri.   
But I can't let you have my Trowa every opportunity."  
  
While Juri's first reaction to the characteristic smirk of the other woman was to   
quarrel, she also trusted that Dorothy considered Trowa an equal, not a   
plaything. However, if she were to ever hear that had changed the truce would   
be over . . .  
  
Juri stood, glancing down at Trowa's bemused expression and then back at   
Dorothy, "Alright, call me if you need anything." She gave Trowa a pointed   
gaze, again impressed by how much older he looked with the unspoken feelings.   
  
"What's up?" Sano asked at the doorway, looking beyond Juri toward the   
shimmering blonde actor leaning over Trowa's darker form. Sano anxiously   
asked the question again.  
  
"He's fine." Juri said, knowing it was terribly inadequate. Amused by Sano's   
sudden and protective concern.   
  
"Fine, my ass." Sano was insulted, "I'm going to ask Saitou to kick that bastard   
off the show so fast . . ."  
  
"Calmly," Juri suggested sympathetically, "It's not what our pretty new cast   
member said that's been bothering Trowa. It's something else, perhaps   
something to do with his sister."  
  
Sano's concern betrayed himself, as the boy suddenly looked very helpless and   
uncertain.   
  
You said, I'm digging you a home . . .  
Truth is, you left a long time ago  
  
As Sano seemed instantly preoccupied, Juri decided to take the opportunity that   
presented itself. Sitting cross-legged on the foyer desk, Shiori had her nose   
buried into the script that sat open in her lap. After a brief moment, she turned   
the page and continued reading. The simple flannel shirt and jeans did very   
little to make Shiori striking, except for the very fact that Juri felt privileged to   
admire such simple prettiness. The way the girl's shoelaces were loose and   
swinging in quiet metronome to her own breathing.  
  
"It's good to see you again," Juri started, nearly chuckling when she realized   
during that one phrase she must have looked as nervous as Sano had moments   
before. Her confidence resumed, Juri continued, "I'm impressed that you   
managed to get such a co-starring role." Shiori had yet to look up, "Saitou must   
have a deal of confidence in you, but you've proven yourself several times."  
  
"We don't have any scenes together," Shiori said unexpectedly.   
  
"Well, not really . . ." Juri agreed, trying to put herself into the new   
conversation.  
  
"So what do you want with me?"   
  
Juri, confused but determined, plunged forward, "I was wondering what you   
were doing this evening?"  
  
"Am I good enough for you now?" Shiori said bluntly, "How do you know I   
didn't get tired of waiting?"  
  
Juri wasn't shocked by the honesty, "Are you tired of waiting? If so . . . I could .   
. . "  
  
"What did you have in mind?" Shiori's voice was smaller.  
  
"I was thinking I might convince you over dinner, something easy." Juri said,   
feeling oddly comfortable all at once, "Something basic, to start over."  
  
Shiori smiled, pulling mostly to one side and letting her teeth show. A mixture   
of delight and something intriguingly devious. "Sure, why not?"  
  
"Sure." Juri echoed.  
  
And you can turn it on and play the innocent   
though you've been caught.  
And I'm too proud to sit here   
saying everything is how it was,  
  
While The International Velvet was favorite of the Road Rage regulars, Dorothy   
decided that she and Trowa would go to The Selfish Gene instead. While a   
smoky hangout for literary and revolutionary sorts, The Selfish Gene had a   
marvelous selection of meals and regular entertainers.   
  
"Damn, might as well eat in a chimney." Trowa coughed as soon as he entered   
the establishment.   
  
Dorothy held his arm, and pointed to one corner. "Oh, it looks less hazy over   
there." She guided him through the tables which were about half full, glancing   
about and claiming a table for two against the brick wall. Above them hovered a   
rather large rendition of Lord Byron and Shelley drinking over a game of chess.  
  
"Definitely, less hazy." Trowa sat down, telling the server to go away and come   
back with water. The general chatter of nearby conversations and the lyrics of   
the woman at the microphone were enough to fill the space between them, still   
Dorothy kept an alert eye on him. "I'm waiting for you to pin me, already."  
  
"Feeling like a bug?" Dorothy asked, brushing at her eyebrows, a habit Dorothy   
unknowingly fell into whenever she was plotting something and wasn't as   
confident of the outcome.  
  
"I'll come out and say it then," Trowa sighed, gratefully taking the glass of water   
he was offered to kill time. "I still think that my non-existent love life is my   
business, and mine only. I do dislike when it becomes the focus of everyone's   
attention, and I'd rather Saionji hadn't said anything. But that's said and done.   
And done."  
  
"And done." Dorothy repeated, shaking her head. "That might be true, and far   
be it from me to call you a liar, darling. Still, let me remind you-while you can   
con your new girl friend into thinking you're as cool as a cucumber, I'm not   
fooled." She laughed, "Pardon the clichés, wouldn't want the management to   
kick us out for being predictable."   
  
Trowa laughed silently, managing to finish his entire glass of water in the   
second drink. "Predictable . . ."  
  
"Right," Dorothy leaned forward, "Predictable is something you're more in   
danger of than me." She twirled a strand of almost white hair around her finger,   
"I did ask myself why you came to the Road Rage, besides the invitation from   
Saitou of course. That was obvious. And I knew it wasn't simply so you could   
have either Nichol's company or my own. That's when it all became very clear."   
She fixed Trowa's nervously expectant eyes with her own victorious assessment,   
"You're a coward."  
  
"What?" Trowa sat back suddenly, almost caught up in the hypnotic intensity of   
Dorothy's words, "I'm a what?"  
  
"Coward." Dorothy repeated, "Albeit a well-meaning coward with an adorable   
martyr's complex, but honestly, love." She smiled serenely, "You go to all that   
work of becoming his best friend and partner, only to flee?"  
  
"Who?" Trowa said dumbly, trying to take another drink, but only ice hit his   
teeth.  
  
"Hmm, let's see," Dorothy tapped her chin in mock thought, "Heero Yuy,   
perhaps?"  
  
"Heero?" Trowa said, managing to repeat his early action but this time chewing   
the ice with determination. "You've got to be kidding, that would be disastrous."   
He tried chuckling.  
  
Dorothy nodded, "Don't get *me* wrong, I disapprove completely. You could   
do much better, but there it is." When Trowa had no comment, she sighed,   
"Think about it for a bit. For example, if I had to listen to you tell me one more   
time how perfect he was I might have gagged you. Then there was that trip   
overseas so he could speak with the other investors about making changes in the   
theater and . . . what happened then, Trowa?"  
  
The silence was more than Trowa could bear, his eyes darkening, "Dorothy, I do   
not like your meddling."  
  
"You need to do something, or move on, Trowa." Dorothy warned, "It's not   
healthy, and it's still haunting you. Either tell me the truth or promise me you're   
going to find somebody else to occupy your time."   
  
The pathetic look on Trowa's face almost made her resolve crumble; she really   
didn't like pushing him. Especially if she already knew the answer. How   
someone with Trowa's resolve could be interested in such a boarish leather   
prince was beyond her.  
  
"I know Heero. Don't forget, I worked at that theater as well." Dorothy let   
down her guard, "He didn't deserve you."  
  
As the applause for the soloist began, Trowa's jaw clenched. Just as   
immediately, Dorothy realized that she had said too much. Now he suspected,   
or perhaps he had known all along.  
  
They ordered their dinner properly enough when the server returned, listened to   
the music and ate in what might appear as amiable silence. Paid the server, and   
left arm in arm as they had entered.  
  
Once outside, Trowa asked his question, "What did you tell him?"  
  
"Exactly what I told you. That he didn't deserve you."   
  
Never been this sure  
Take it from where you want to grow,   
there's always tomorrow.  
  
"It was nice, thank you." Shiori said. They'd taken sandwiches to the forest   
preserve and the flowers sacrificed for the occasion were still tucked into her   
hair.  
  
"How is it we're here already?" Juri glanced out the passenger side window and   
the light from the lamp above her apartment door spread itself along the   
walkway. "It's still early." She glanced back at Shiori, her hair thin and stringy   
framing her face. Something alluring about the tangles.  
  
"Right," Shiori said briskly, "And I need to at least finish reading the script for   
tomorrow. Saitou's expecting a lot from me."  
  
"We're all anticipating your best," Juri admitted, stepping out of the car. Shiori   
waited until the older woman was inside, then taking the wheel with a resolved   
grip turned back out toward the street. Releasing a little of her frustration, she   
reached down to turn up the radio and sang along, enjoying how her voice was   
solid enough to fill the entire car. It was mindless and Shiori didn't really feel   
like thinking anymore. Thinking only made things more difficult.  
  
She sat at the next intersection for a full four minutes, watching the light change   
from red to green to red again. Then she switched her turn signal and took a left   
turn instead. Driving through the better suburbs of the town, crossing the train   
tracks. She pulled into the driveway of one of the houses and getting out of the   
car, walked up to the front way to knock on the door.  
  
"You wanted to rehearse?" Shiori asked, breathing quickly.  
  
"Come in," Nichol took a glance down the street, holding the door open for her.  
  
I'd rather have you smile   
than have you fall, no matter where you go.  
  
"Hello." Trowa said as the door opened, the evening was growing chilly and   
he'd tucked his fingers into the front jean pockets. He trembled a little, but   
doubted it was from the cold, "It's late, and a bit of a surprise but . . ."  
  
"Dorothy called me."   
  
"I see. Not a surprise then." He wasn't certain if that was a good thing or not,   
simply by looking at Heero's calm face. It'd been so long since he'd seen those   
dull blue eyes invigorated, before things began to get complicated. Months.   
Suddenly too afraid to stay any longer, Trowa pulled away and down the stairs,   
only looking at the ground.  
  
"Where the hell are you going?" Heero had stepped outside, his wild hair dark   
against the light from inside. Trowa swallowed carefully, knowing that if he   
made one misstep then his heart would stop beating completely. Being so close   
to Heero was that dangerous. Then more softly, "Where the hell have you   
been?"  
  
"I thought . . ." Trowa started, suddenly feeling the return of all the rehearsed   
reunions he hadn't the luxury to hope for, and none of them fit that moment.   
  
"That might be your problem," the Asian man suggested dryly, "Trowa, might I   
suggest that you ask questions before assuming things. You have a splendid   
ability to act as if everything is fine in most circumstances, but once you get   
logical *and* emotional . . ." Heero closed the distance moving down a step   
more, now so that he was at eye level, not once touching. Then gently again,   
asked, "Why did you leave?"  
  
A bit mesmerized by their closeness, Trowa answered, "I'm not sure I can   
remember, it must have been a pretty lousy reason."  
  
"Hn." Heero nodded in agreement, "Listen to me this time, Trowa. I've known   
you longer than just about anyone. When I went through some dark and suicidal   
times, it was you-you and Catherine-that waited them out. And when I blew my   
inheritance buying The Glass House, I found my support in you." Heero   
reached out to pull his fingers through Trowa's hair affectionately, "So when I   
tell you that I love you, trust me. I mean it."  
  
"But what about the trip . . . ?" Trowa hesitated, frowning. Disbelieving.   
"Don't tell me that Dorothy told you to do this . . . I'll . . ."  
  
"Dorothy," Heero's eyes narrowed, "You've managed to bewitch that woman   
somehow, Trowa. For her betterment, but still . . . you . . . "  
  
Heero stepped down again, and, on level ground, looked up to meet Trowa's   
eyes with enough warning of his very obvious intentions, reached up with both   
hands, and kissed his wayward friend very soundly.   
  
"Damn, Trowa." Heero instinctively rubbed his own chin, eyes flashing. "We're   
both cowards. It's been so long, and I've been lecturing *you* on courage. I am   
a fool." But before he could say more, Trowa had ducked to taste his mouth   
again.  
  
"We've got some catching up to do." Breathed Trowa, pushing Heero back into   
the house.  
  
And you can turn it on   
and play at anything you ever wanted to.  
Cos you're not dull   
and I'm not strong enough   
to carry on wondering how.   
  
We're gonna see this through. 


	17. Immediate Circle

Immediate Circle   
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Here there be Gundam Wing, Utena, Rurouni Kenshin and   
Cowboy Bebop characters. Here there be Catatonia lyrics. Here there be   
alternate reality. Here it is. Part 17.)  
  
Heero was known for driving recklessly. And even as the car took them around   
and through the rest of the traffic, Trowa continued to glance over and watch as   
the circulating air picked up Heero's dark hair and blew it around as if it had a   
life of it's own, constantly pulsing. Completely separate and distinctly other.   
While they might have taken first steps to resolve the past, Trowa still felt his   
lips turning downward with inconsolable fear. This was almost too much to   
hope.   
  
Staring absently at the dash, Trowa tried to create a balance in his memory   
distinguishing his more instinctual feelings from the overwhelming amount of   
misconceptions and unhindered truths of the past. Wanting to believe what he'd   
been told. Then somehow, that desperate attempt for thorough understanding   
instantly unraveled with the touch of the hand that had moved from the stick   
shift to his thigh.  
  
"I'm sure the old gang at the Glass House will be thrilled to see you again,   
Trowa." Heero smiled, white through shadow, the same maniac personality that   
left Trowa's head spinning.   
  
I'm gonna change my immediate circle  
Of friends  
I'm gonna run away and join the circus  
Oh yeah  
  
The Glass House was an historical landmark for the city. Four stories, box   
seats, carved decorations unique to each wall, and much too sophisticated for the   
colorful and original shows that Heero emphasized. During the years that   
Trowa had participated in the Glass House's productions they had never sold out   
a show, much less the first balcony, but Heero's sizable inheritance was enough   
to support the theater from going under. Even when it suffered such a split as   
during a switch of directors.  
  
Heero's car screeched to a halt directly in front of the theater's main doors.   
Trowa a bit startled by how quickly his companion left the car and crossed over   
to open his own door.   
  
"Uh," Trowa said, perplexed as Heero held out his hand as an escort might.   
Even after closing the door, Heero claimed Trowa's arm, entwining his fingers.  
  
"I need you," Heero said pulling forward, looking forward only.  
  
"What's going on?" Trowa said, kicking himself for not responding in kind, "Do   
we need to talk about this?"  
  
"Trust me," Heero's voice became dangerously low, "You'll understand soon   
enough." Heero burst through the main doors, dragging Trowa along at his   
recklessly quick pace. Once inside, Trowa instantly remembered the building's   
aroma of stale smoke and lilac freshener. He'd been in the smoke free Road   
Rage long enough to forget. The sounds of voices carried from the stage.  
  
"Is that you, hey, Barton!"   
  
Trowa turned mid-flight down the center aisle to see a delicate blonde woman   
with an unusually sweet smile. Trowa's face brightened with recognition.   
Untangling himself from Heero's grip, Trowa stepped back to where the young   
woman was entertaining the latest show's script.  
  
"Sylvia," Trowa grinned openly, and Sylvia stood to pull him into a warm hug.  
  
"Trowa, you moron," she laughed easily, "Whatever possessed you to leave us at   
a time like this? Wolfwood and Vash have done their best to keep morale high,   
but you were always the solid common sense humming beneath all of their   
shenanigans." Standing, she couldn't resist brushing back Trowa's wayward   
hair, "You look well enough, why did you come back?"  
  
In plenty of time, Heero had retraced his hurried steps to hover impatiently   
while Sylvia indulged in Trowa's return. She was a little surprised by Heero's   
possessive glower, but effectively ignoring his bristling energy she held her   
claim to Trowa's attention.  
  
Trowa, however, melted in Heero's direction. "We'll have to catch up, Syl.   
Maybe later?"  
  
"Later." Sylvia echoed, "Later I'm going out with Wufei and a few of the others.   
Although, I'm guessing you'll be around more often now?" She tipped her head   
toward the impatient Heero who was becoming more nervous with each second,   
running his hands up and down the coarse leather of his coat sleeves.  
  
"I hope so." Trowa said pointedly.  
  
They continued to walk down to the front with a quick detour to the left toward   
the backstage offices, Trowa waving and gesturing that he was in a hurry to the   
distracted actors on stage. He smiled sympathetically as Wufei Chang began   
lecturing them on the juvenile pursuit of waving to the audience during a   
performance.  
  
As soon as the door closed and they were in the poorly lit hallway, Trowa pulled   
back on Heero's shoulder and taking the upper hand, physically backed the   
shorter man into the wall. The yellow tinting of the light made everything dark   
except the frustrated glow of Heero's eyes.  
  
"What's the matter?" Trowa asked, his heart pounding with nervousness. He'd   
never been so forward with Heero at such close proximity. "What's bothering   
you?"  
  
"It's been torturous being here after you left, Trowa." Heero said angrily. "I've   
been wanting to leave again ever since I came back and you were gone. No one   
else understands." Heero shrugged with newfound casualness, "I know I didn't   
mention it before, last night. But I decided, I'm going to sell this place and do   
something else." He stood taller to brush his fingers across Trowa's lips, "Focus   
more on you, perhaps."  
  
Trowa's knees collapsing was just enough to force Heero back against the wall,   
faces close. "We should have talked about this." Trowa said, trying to maintain   
his line of logic, "You're too impulsive. I know you love this theater."  
  
"Ah, but things have changed since you left," Heero challenged. "Come with   
me and see."   
  
They've been leading me around in circles  
Round and round  
I'm gonna change my immediate circle  
Of friends...  
  
When things had been more complicated, and therefore simpler, Trowa   
remembered walking next to Heero and comfortably being aware of his   
charming smell—always of leather. Natural and more than a bit wild. He'd   
always pined after his friend, drowning in dark blue eyes and into the depths of   
Heero's conversation. But Trowa had never decided what to do if the fascination   
was returned in kind. Each touch was enough to make him more than a little   
crazy and confused.  
  
He wanted this, but reservations began to build themselves a fortress of doubt.   
Nothing could be so easy.  
  
And there was the suddenness.   
  
However, before Trowa could formulate any further concerns, Heero had pushed   
their way into the main conference room where two other individuals that Trowa   
didn't recognize half stood in greeting. The one who drew attention first was a   
young woman in a simple grey suit, her hair was long, caramel colored and   
pulled back into a ribbon. If Trowa didn't know better, he would have guessed   
that she was auditioning to be a court reporter. And if she were the reporter, the   
gentleman next to her would have been the glamorous Hollywood lawyer.   
  
Trowa took a seat as Heero made cordial introductions. "This is Trowa Barton,   
a friend of mine. He's here in order to hear your side of the negotiations, and I   
hope they're more appealing than last time." Heero didn't do well in public or in   
crowds larger than one other person. He slouched into his seat, chin tucked and   
his face well hidden by his dark hair, which was significantly longer and more   
disordered than the last time Trowa had seen the young man at any length.  
  
"Hello, Trowa," The woman said simply, acute properness driven in her tone.   
She gave Heero an intrigued look then put one hand to her shirt collar, "I'm   
Relena Darlian, and this is my associate, Touga. We represent a party that is   
interested in partnering with Mr. Yuy's investment in the Glass House.   
Especially given the rough transitions as of late and the difficulty of handling   
such things, we feel that a new spirit of comradery might be born from a united   
leadership."  
  
Trowa continued to listen to her as diligently as he could, recognizing a   
practiced speech and trying not to smile as he watched Heero folding himself   
deeper into his crossed arms with disinterest.   
  
"I'd really rather you buy the whole mess." Heero grumbled, a dark mood   
settling around him.  
  
Relena's face seemed completely without reaction to the hostility as she smiled,   
"Well, while our investors want to provide support to the Glass House, more   
importantly they want to focus their intentions on supporting you and your   
artistic merits, Heero." She said the first name with a flavor of guilt at stolen   
familiarity.  
  
Trowa glanced over at the room's other occupant, the red-haired man, who   
seemed blissfully unimpressed with anything and glanced at his pager often,   
cradling it in his soft, white fingers. "I have to take this call." He dismissed   
himself without really seeking anyone's permission.  
  
After Touga had stepped outside, Relena leaned over the table and giving Trowa   
a dismissive glance said with a more pleading tone, "Do agree, Heero. I'm sure   
that I could restore this broken castle into the kingdom that it once used to be-for   
you."  
  
"I'm sure," Heero said reluctantly, "But you sure as well can do it without me."   
He sat up straighter, and spoke again, during which Trowa could almost feel   
Heero tapping into his own energy as well. "Stop wasting your time. I'll sign   
whatever papers are needed to give you the deed, the name, the contracts . . . and   
Wufei agreed to stay as well."   
  
"But I-" Relena stammered, her cheeks rosy with frustration. "What's changed,   
Heero? I thought . . ."  
  
"Make up the papers." Heero's volume dropped. "And when you're finally   
finished, I can at last be free of this foolishness."  
  
Trowa couldn't help but feel sorry for the girl, she obviously wasn't used to   
seeing Heero's violent eruptions, albeit that moment was a very slight shadow of   
his extreme moods. And those emotions could be all the more dangerous if one   
misread them.  
  
In my darkest hour of need  
They all become make believe  
And they pretend that they are sleeping...  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Sanosuke finally said after a few seconds, he   
was sprawled across Catherine's couch with most of Catherine herself lying   
beneath him. They'd fallen that way and into a stiffening silence that sometimes   
invaded even their closest moments.  
  
Catherine blinked once, still staring at the ceiling, one arm pinned against Sano's   
chest the other half daintily draped across her own shirt. "I'm thinking . . ." She   
started to say, then her words slipped into the thick of the silence. Sano waited,   
shifting to support her head better with his arm, letting the other snuggle around   
her waist and keep her close.  
  
Her jaw worked again, "I'm thinking about Trowa, you see."  
  
Sano rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and snorted, "Okay, so you're making out   
with me and you're thinking about your brother."  
  
"Don't say that." Catherine sounded hurt, "I'm worried about him, about what   
you said. About what it means."  
  
"So." Sano sighed leaning in to better smell the mint of her breath and of her   
hair. "Juri said he was alright, and it's not like any of us are going to care any   
differently about him because of what that Saionji creep said."  
  
"Really," Catherine said, still staring into the distance, "Really, you might care-  
but you won't worry like I do. Trowa's too kind. The only time he was truly in   
love and truly hurt was when he believed that one of his closest friends really   
might love him back. But it didn't work. His friend left Trowa behind with   
some damned stupid excuse . . ." She paused perplexed.  
  
"He'll be fine." Sano tried again, breathing into her ear, "And so will you.   
You've got me."  
  
Catherine closed her eyes against the decisions she continued to put behind her.   
Trying to steal all the feeling that she could from Sano's caresses-fighting her   
fears for the moment.  
  
I raise my game as the stakes stack higher  
Higher  
You cry wolf like you're the town crier  
Cry girl  
  
Juri realized that she was spending too much time trying to figure out how to   
most comfortably wrap her arms around the other girl when Shiori suddenly   
stopped walking and asked again, "So why did you want to see me?"  
  
They were walking around the lake, enjoying the sunset of one of the first days   
of autumn. Shiori didn't live far away from the water so they had met at her   
home and walked in silence for some ways. Passed by joggers and cyclists.   
Every once and a while Juri feeling the mist from the water caught on a breeze.   
  
"I-I just wanted to spend some more time with you," Juri said simply, somewhat   
glad that she hadn't been more forward, somewhat taken back at the girl's   
sudden ignorance of what might have been between them in the past. "Dinner   
was nice the other day, I thought I'd follow up." Trying to latch onto a steady   
conversation while they were at last speaking, she fumbled, "How are you   
enjoying your role?"  
  
"It's fine enough," Shiori said, "It's going to be challenging trying to assimilate   
all of those personalities into one character, but Saitou tells me that it's my   
strength as an actress . . ."   
  
"I remember someone else commenting on that as well," Juri put the images of   
Ruka from her mind, focusing on the face of the girl beside her. The style of the   
hair still an effective shield from that angle. "You've colored your hair."   
  
"Yeah," Shiori said, "I've been making a number of small changes, so far you're   
one of the first to have noticed. It's almost purple, so I'm not sure if I like it."  
  
"It's unusual, that's true." Juri said, half agreeing only so that she might be   
agreeing. Perhaps if she looped her arm just so and caught Shiori around the   
elbow then reached down to lace their fingers . . . but the closeness of that   
thought was too much and made her heart pound. Turning from the distraction,   
she watched gulls diving around the many sailboats pulled in for the night. The   
rush of the waves and the wind making even the gulls cries sound thin and   
distant.  
  
"Maybe we should turn around?" Shiori suggested, holding her arms close.   
"I'm getting uncomfortable."  
  
"Alright," Juri said, imagining herself draping one confident arm across Shiori's   
shoulders, letting the girl lean in. Wanting someone close, it had been so long.   
"It was nice of you to take this walk with me."  
  
"I wasn't doing anything else." Shiori said.  
  
"Is something the matter?" Juri asked quietly, "I'm sorry if . . ."  
  
"No," the girl glanced up, her expression impossible to read, "I should get out   
every now and again, but I really want to concentrate on my part as well."  
  
"Alright," Juri nodded, understanding the need to pull away from other intimate   
relationships in order to focus on a part. That's what Spike would have done, or   
Ruka . . . but she had hoped . . . Spike didn't have to pull away from Julia.   
Perhaps the problem was herself? "I didn't want to ask too much of you."   
  
Shiori shrugged.  
  
The queen of clubs drinks in pubs on days off  
Swills down dregs, drags  
On duck arsed cigarettes . . .  
In my darkest hour of need  
They all become make believe  
And they pretend that they are sleeping . . .  
  
"Pleased you could join us, Mr. Barton," Saitou said in his most disapproving   
voice, although by most of the other actors' standards, Trowa was being let off   
quite easily.   
  
"I apologize," Trowa said, unable to sneak in quietly to the auditorium like he   
had hoped since rehearsal had been moved to the much smaller and more   
intimate practice room. He surveyed the other actors, Spike and Julia who   
waved and, next to them, Sano who was staring at the ceiling in dismay that his   
lateness hadn't been received so kindly. There were only two empty seats. He   
considered slipping into the empty spot next to Dorothy, but she flatly refused to   
meet his eyes since he first slipped in, so Trowa quickly turned the other   
direction and sat on the opposite end beside Juri who seemed just as distracted,   
but not so distantly.  
  
"Now that our narrator has come, I can finish telling you that I appreciate your   
auditioning. I know that the process was a strain on you given the complexity. I   
assure you that it was just as much a strain for myself." Saitou paused very   
briefly to acknowledge the sarcastic snicker from the company rooster head.   
"Moving forward, this is going to be a challenging production. Mikage Souji   
has begun work rewiring the lighting to accommodate the needs of such an   
elaborate production. As most of you know, Miss Tenjou is going to be   
teaching a number of you how to fence, or at least put on a decent front. What   
you might not know is that we've also cast her as the mysterious prince that you   
will notice pops in and out of the script from time to time."  
  
"I thought Anthy was going to do that?" Spike spoke up, apparently not so   
absorbed in his fiancé's ring as he appeared.  
  
"Miss Himemiya's psychologist . . ." Saitou started dryly.  
  
"Gotcha," Spike interjected, smiling in amusement.  
  
"I didn't mind stepping in," Utena spoke up from the far end of the table they'd   
dragged into the room for the purposes of this initial meeting. "It's a small part,   
but I did some acting for Saitou before--although that was quite a while ago."  
  
"You have my thanks," Saitou said, tipping his head in Utena's direction, "Now   
if everyone would turn to the beginning of this disastrously creative play, let's   
read through and unwrap some of what I have in mind."  
  
Two hours later, Saitou adjourned the ensemble for a lunch break. The group   
broke free from the practice room heading their individual directions. Spike   
already pulling a cigarette from his pocket.   
  
Trowa waited by the door until Dorothy walked up, her hair pulled back into a   
long ponytail making her seem several years younger. Her blue eyes however   
were still characteristically chilled, even when Trowa offered her a halfway   
smile.  
  
"Don't say a word." Dorothy warned, "You don't owe me any thanks. Nothing I   
said to Heero was supposed to facilitate the two of you getting together."  
  
"Then why . . . ?" asked Trowa, increasingly puzzled. "Well, it doesn't matter.   
I was wrong all along, he does care for me." The memory of his conversation a   
few nights before strangling his heart with desperately hoped for desires.   
  
"When you want to hear it," Dorothy said lightly, her eyebrow arched, "let me   
really tell you what I think about this whole situation."  
  
"Tell me now," Trowa said, lowering his voice and becoming guarded for all his   
attempts to be open-minded.  
  
"No," Dorothy said watching him closely, "But I will say this, keep your head,   
Trowa." His eyes narrowed, and Dorothy realized that she'd come close to   
sparking the gangly man's deeply buried stubbornness.   
  
"I'll keep that in mind." Trowa replied, turning to step out of the room.   
  
Dorothy hovered a moment longer aware of the one other person still in the   
room. "What do you want, Nichol?"  
  
The dark man ran a finger along the side of his strong nose, "Interesting   
conversation, Dorothy. What ever does it mean?"  
  
"It's not really any of your business, darling," Dorothy's voice adopting the   
cheerful camouflage she was used to, "Still you know how it is, you have to let   
some people make their own mistakes before they'll learn . . . no matter how   
hard you try to protect them."   
  
Nichol snorted, "If Barton's screwing himself then I hope he gets twisted and   
good."   
  
"Hmm," Dorothy mused, "Well, unless I'm mistaken . . . Trowa's not the only   
one with a favorite little obsession. I've noticed that you've been monopolizing .   
. ."  
  
Nichol laughed, "Dear Dorothy, I haven't stolen anything of *yours*." His eyes   
twinkled darkly as he leaned in closely to whisper, " . . . not that I turn down   
offers that end up on my doorstep."  
  
"And here I didn't think you were interested," Dorothy tossed her hair, fixing   
Nichol with a look.  
  
"I play when the game is amusing." Nichol answered. "Besides, it puts me in   
character . . ."  
  
Dorothy made a thoughtful noise deep in her throat, before leaving the room as   
well. Her opinion hadn't changed, sometimes people did have to make their own   
mistakes. But this cruel game was long ago started, and Dorothy meant to see it   
end her way even if the kitten had already chosen a different path. Even if it   
meant pulling out the stops. She looped her handbag over her shoulder and   
crossing through the foyer stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun.  
  
I'm gonna change my immediate circle  
Of friends  
I'm gonna run away and join the circus  
Oh yeah  
I'll be assistant to the  
Blind knife thrower  
Better that than being  
Factory fodder order...  
  
"How's is it?" Trowa asked, almost bashfully, as Juri chewed her sandwich   
thoughtfully. He'd invited her back to his apartment for lunch finding Juri still   
in the theater even after his conversation with Dorothy.  
  
"Thank you, it's fine." Juri smiled affectionately, Trowa had stumbled around   
the kitchen quite a while trying to find something to accommodate her for lunch.   
  
"I always forget you're a vegetarian," Trowa laughed sheepishly, "It's not your   
most defining characteristic."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that," Juri continued to eat sitting at the table, even as Trowa   
paced around the kitchen putting things away and trying to make a more   
organized mess out of the remaining items. "What are you going to eat?"  
  
"Oh, right." Trowa turned around clearly at a loss, then began taking back out   
all the sandwich items he'd just put away, including the lunch meat. The   
apartment was quite like it's occupant, mostly browns and greens, easy going   
and comfortable. It smelled like the GQ magazine which she found under the   
morning paper. She raised an eyebrow, resting a finger on the cover.  
  
"Cathy got me a subscription, some school fund raiser Helen had to do." Trowa   
looked over his shoulder, "Helen's barely in first grade even."  
  
"Everything seems to start younger," Juri nodded, taking a sip of water and   
curiously studying Trowa's anxious behavior. "Did you want to talk about   
something?"  
  
He stiffened, as if she'd guessed correctly. Then leaving the half-finished   
sandwich and supplies behind, pulled out the chair opposite from Juri and sat   
down. Letting his hands fold in front of him, staring at his thumbs. Juri chewed   
content to let her question rest. Glancing at the clock on the far wall of the   
kitchen, they had a good forty-five minutes until Saitou expected them back at   
the Road Rage.  
  
"I don't know how to make this a short story," Trowa admitted, "But someone   
I've loved very much has come back into my life. I thought he was gone   
forever, really. Yet now he's ready to leave everything else--for me this time, he   
says." Trowa frowned, "But I can't, I can't make myself believe him. No matter   
how much I want him, or want to believe him . . . now."  
  
Juri finished chewing and suggested, "Give yourself time, it's soon it seems.   
And he should give you time, who is this impulsive fellow?"  
  
"Heero Yuy," Trowa smile relaxed somewhat, "We grew up together. He, Cathy   
and I were a terrible three-some for years before I went off to school and Cathy   
got married. I'd always had this perplexing fascination for him, and it wasn't   
until I started working with The Glass House that I realized how much he meant   
to me."  
  
"The Glass House? That Heero Yuy?" Juri started, "Oh my, I thought that place   
had strict rules about the staff not intermingling in that way . . ."  
  
"Don't get me wrong. We didn't . . ." Trowa waved his hands, "It was a most   
unrequited love, I assure you. Besides, it wasn't like Heero didn't own the place   
. . . still I kept my distance appropriately."  
  
"You just wanted to be near him," Juri smirked knowingly, "I can sympathize,   
but if you didn't tell him . . . how did this all happen?"  
  
"Well, it all sort of came out one day when Nichol confronted me about . . .   
another misunderstanding over a woman. I thought the easiest way to solve that   
would be to explain that I was gay. Which you would think could have thrown   
water on the tension between us," Trowa chuckled, "But no, Nichol won't rest   
until I'm as miserable as he is. Which is what he thought he'd accomplish by   
telling Heero that his best friend wanted . . ."  
  
"I get the picture. And I'm sure that simply made Nichol's day," Juri sighed   
sympathetically.  
  
"Not exactly," Trowa reflected, "I kept my distance for about two days before I   
woke up with a new roommate. Heero had come over just to talk and we got a   
little bit too intoxicated . . . with each other. I wouldn't have let him stay, except   
he said that he wanted to . . . hell, I wasn't going to turn him away."  
  
"Then . . ."  
  
"Then we were supposed to go to Europe together. Part business trip for him, all   
pleasure trip for me. Except that at the last minute he disappeared on me, only   
to find out that he'd left early with some excuse about . . . damn, what does it   
matter." Trowa kept chattering with growing nervousness, Juri stopped   
watching the clock. "He left last fall, and when The Glass House started to   
crumble around me--I took the opportunity that Saitou offered me. Did I ever   
tell you how Saitou and I met?"  
  
"No." Juri's eyes crinkled affectionately.  
  
"It was an audition back when Saitou was acting, remind me to tell you some   
time." Trowa's laugh was anxious. He ran a hand through his reddish-brown   
hair, holding it back from his pale face.  
  
"What do you want from me?" Juri decided to ask pointedly, bringing Trowa   
back from his fruitless digression.  
  
"I can't . . . I completely stop thinking whenever I'm around him, and it scares   
me." Trowa confessed, "Because with Heero, I've always been the responsible   
one. He needs me to watch for him, and now he's impulsively selling The Glass   
House to this woman who'd obviously rather bag Heero herself and run . . ."  
  
"He's selling . . . ?" Juri said around her last bite of sandwich, very much   
surprised.   
  
"Crazy, he's crazy," Trowa shook his head, "Apparently he was going to   
consider having a partner, but honestly, Juri, this woman is more than he can   
handle." Trowa chuckled lightly, his breath rustling the unused napkin on the   
table in front of him. "I'd hate to see him sell, but Heero's insistent."  
  
"It is his choice, Trowa." Juri reached over for the napkin and began to wipe off   
her fingers. "It's his choice to sell The Glass House, but participating in this   
relationship is partly *your* choice. Don't forget that."  
  
"Part of the reason why I can't see around him, is because I understand him too   
well . . ." Trowa said softly, "His behavior makes so much sense, and now it's   
so much what I want . . . that I lose all focus."  
  
"Losing focus," said Juri simply, "I can understand that."  
  
"We're going to be late." Trowa spotted the time on the clock and winced, "I   
guess I'll sort out what to do when the time comes."   
  
"Follow your instincts, when you love someone they'll turn out for the best.   
You're a gentle person, Trowa."   
  
"Do you really believe that?" Trowa scoffed, "Although, I want to believe you."   
He grabbed his jacket and script which he'd accidentally brought home as well.   
"Ready?" He asked, pulling the door open for Juri, when she suddenly   
hesitated.  
  
"Hi." She said, staring.   
  
From the hallway, Heero Yuy turned from Juri to address Trowa, "Do you have   
a minute, I need . . ." Heero began, then an expression of some bewilderment   
crossed his Asian features as he looked back at Juri as if he wondered why she   
was still there. He tilted his head to one side, and said, "Who's this?"  
  
In my darkest hour of need  
They all become make believe  
And they pretend that they are sleeping... 


	18. Catching Change

Catching Change and Chance  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: More, more and more of the same dessert. Just a bit different. For   
the most part the recipe is the same. Equal parts blend of anime to equal part   
alternate reality. Simmer uncovered to Catatonia's song Jump Or Be Sane. Best   
served late at night.)   
  
Juri was more than a little surprised at the split second reaction when Trowa   
immediately said, "Heero, Juri. Juri, Heero." Leaning against the door which   
still stood open with Juri just on the inside and the disheveled Heero Yuy   
looking disgruntled on the outside, Trowa quickly added, "And Juri, will you   
make my apologies to Saitou?"  
  
Blinking a few times, Juri tentatively replied, "Sure . . ." The awkward Asian   
wasn't exactly what she would have expected for Trowa to fall in love with.   
Certainly, the other man was relatively attractive, with his dark hair and exotic   
skin with the crooked and nervous grin, but the way his unusually blue eyes   
were sunken in and shadowed seemed significantly opposite from the warm   
kindle of Trowa's spirit. The same spirit that was seeking her understanding,   
without offering explanation. Everything in Trowa's posture said, 'trust me'--  
still trusting Trowa was never her doubt.   
  
Heero, on the other hand, stepped in greedily. Tipping his head to Juri and   
stepping around to put his hand on Trowa's shoulder, leaning sideways as if to   
confide, already dismissing Juri. Trowa winced apologetically, most likely for   
the other man's indifferent attitude.  
  
"You'll need these." Trowa tossed her his truck keys.  
  
"Later, Trowa." Juri said, lingering long enough to see Trowa get absorbed into   
Heero's concerns. Crossing his arms and slowly nodding his head, eyes closed   
and a content smile on his face. Body language clearly that Trowa was ready to   
remedy anything for the person he cared most for.   
  
Still there was something frighteningly thorough and possessive about the   
sudden relationship. Trowa did need to keep his head, or find it again. If only   
she had more time to take a longer appraisal. Then again, was it sudden? Or a   
continuation of what had gone on before.   
  
She stepped up into Trowa's truck. Taking a reflexive look in the review mirror   
and noting the obvious concern etched on her own features. She wanted to go   
back upstairs, but that wouldn't satisfy her curiosity. Putting the keys into the   
ignition, she glanced at the dash and noticed a note taped there, which she had   
noticed in passing before. The address to Catherine Bloom's apartment.   
  
It was out of character for Trowa to behave irresponsibly about his acting.   
Perhaps if she met with his sister . . . she could reconcile her concern about his   
relationship with Heero Yuy. Recording the telephone number on the back of   
her hand.  
  
Well I know what I like, and I like what I see  
I know what I want, and I know what I need  
And the more that I get, the more that I need  
So if you're coming along, well you're coming out easy  
  
"Thank you for meeting me." Juri half-stood, but the other woman sat down at   
the table quickly. Juri had met Catherine before, at Spike's cast parties and such,   
but they'd never confided in each other before and the actor took a moment to   
absorb the rush of quiet messages that the Catherine's expression generated.   
Catherine's hair was short, folding in around her face and wildly curly at the   
ends, as if she'd just come from trying to take a nap. Even though they were   
step-siblings, Juri recognized the familial grin, initially nervous while hoping to   
make the other person comfortable.   
  
"I've always wondered what this place was like." Catherine looked around the   
International Velvet, her gaze settling toward the cleared area where a make-  
shift music group began to set up their equipment. Someone was testing the   
mike. Looking everywhere before taking a deep breath and meeting Juri's look   
full on. "Are you worried about Trowa? What's happened?"  
  
Juri's eyes flickered with the immediate pressure of Catherine's worry, and she   
hastily began, "I didn't want to trouble you; however, your brother and I have   
been good friends recently."  
  
"He's spoken of you." Catherine eagerly took her drink from the waiter's hands,   
and ignoring the straw took a deep drink. "All he says is that he's very happy   
with the Road Rage theater, working with that director and meeting you, of   
course." Catherine drank again, taking a long pause and hardly breathing with   
the effort of satisfying her thirst.   
  
"That's what I would say as well," Juri nodded, having sipped her drink with a   
great deal more conservatism, "Which is why I was wondering about Trowa's   
relationship with the Glass House's owner. Things have changed." Catherine's   
shoulder's fell forward, tightening her form, so Juri reassured, "I believe that   
Trowa is still happy, but . . ."  
  
"But, but, but." Catherine's eyes danced back and forth slowly, the light blue   
unfocused, "Of course he's happy, Trowa's intoxicated whenever Heero's   
around. Which I can understand. We all grew up together, you see, and Heero   
can be so vibrantly alive. So risk taking and sincere. We never got into and out   
of so much trouble as when we were with him. Do you mind if I get another one   
of these?" Cathy waved her hand over the disappeared sweet drink.  
  
Juri nodded, "I'm still buying. So, Heero's just a little different then, more   
aggressive. Alright."  
  
"No," Catherine interrupted, "Not alright. Heero's articulate, well spoken and   
incredibly intelligent. He's also extraordinarily depressed. Trowa tries to   
shoulder that, you see. It didn't happen to Heero that often, but under extreme   
stress, he crumbles."  
  
"Stress?"  
  
"When his parent's died, Heero tried to kill himself after the wake." Catherine   
had nearly finished her second drink, her eyelids drooping with memory, "With   
a knife of all things. Damn near sliced clean through Trowa's palm, where he   
grabbed the blade away. My silly brother didn't grab Heero's wrist, not that it   
matters anymore. Trust me, I gave Trowa a piece of my mind in the emergency   
room after that, but Trowa wilted in relief to hear that Heero was fine and told   
me that day that he'd do anything to repair Heero's sorrow. They were almost   
doubly inseparable from then on."   
  
"Almost?" Juri caught on, "What happened?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Catherine said thoughtfully, "I got married after high school,   
which was my biggest mistake in life. And Trowa went to school, which was   
the first independent from Heero decision he'd made-I was grateful for that.   
Heero stayed here and began to run the Glass House. When Trowa got back   
things went horribly . . ."  
  
"With Nichol and . . . he told me." Juri watched Catherine finish her glass of   
water, "You have heard that Trowa has . . ."  
  
"Has what?" Catherine asked, guarded urgency in her voice, "I was afraid . . .   
Trowa just hasn't given up has he?" She looked away, at her white fingers-the   
index tapping against the table.  
  
"They're exploring a togetherness, yes." Juri admitted, "That's why I wanted to   
speak with you. I wanted to know more about Heero. He's quite *possessive*   
of your brother it seems."  
  
"Exploring." Catherine repeated, not quite meeting Juri's eyes as she attempted,   
"Something terrifying about that word."  
  
During the quietness, Juri watched Catherine's eyes shimmer with many unshed   
tears. She had Trowa's tenderness, only a much more thorough fear of being   
hurt. A fear of hurt that Trowa was wary of, but of which he was also mostly   
oblivious. Trowa had hope.   
  
Everybody screams don't know what to believe  
I just follow someone else's life  
  
Catherine stumbled against the edge of her doorway, fumbling with the keys,   
and risking to let her frustrated breath out in sobs, even though her tears were   
long dry. She'd sat with Juri at the International Velvet for some time, not   
speaking. Then Juri had offered to drive her home, Catherine couldn't refuse . . .   
she'd slipped in too many drinks. Drowning without results.   
  
She fixed one hand around the door's handle, ready to push it open, but found   
that it turned easily without the key. Her eyes widened, had she forgotten to   
lock it? It couldn't be Sano, he hadn't the key. Trowa was preoccupied, wasn't   
he? Over the anxiety, a strange sense of indifference granted her some clarity of   
thought. She pushed open the door.  
  
"Welcome back, sweetie," his tone was apologetic, but firm. The coolness in   
her head was all that kept her collected.  
  
"What . . . are you doing here?" The anger of the words somehow lost as she   
spoke them.  
  
"Probably complicating things for you, as usual." Duo Maxwell said, without a   
measure of flippancy. He sat on her couch, leaning forward with his arms   
balanced on his knees. "Which I wouldn't do lightly."  
  
"How . . . ?"  
  
"Catherine, I know things are bad, but I've always wanted to know where you   
are and that you're doing well." His brows furrowed, just visible under the   
caramel colored bangs. "It's not that hard to check on either."  
  
"Well, you can leave now. Keep your checking at a distance." Catherine held   
the door open, trying not to let the relief overwhelm her confidence as he did   
make his way toward the exit. "If you have to tell me something, have one of   
your fancy lawyers write me again."  
  
"One thing," Duo stopped just near her, and his voice dropped a tone, becoming   
a bit dangerous with the level of his sincerity, "You might at least send Helen a   
card for her birthday from now on." He continued to leave, calling back, "She   
believes Trowa's gift was from both her uncle and her mother. However, I don't   
ever want to have to make excuses for you again."  
  
Catherine closed the door still blanketed by the unnatural calmness. She stood   
staring into the room for some time.  
  
And all my bookcases groan none of the words are my own  
I just follow someone else's life  
And all the knowledge I crave is waiting there in my grave  
So it seems - jump or be sane  
  
The conversation had gotten a little unfocused as soon as Heero realized that   
Trowa's friend had actually left the room. The troubles had managed to lose   
themselves, as soon as the reddish-brown hair nodded in agreement to   
accompany him back to the Glass House once more. The entire mission had   
unraveled when Heero found himself absorbed in Trowa's subtle touches in the   
car, in the theater, and again in the conference room.  
  
It was all the distraction he needed to survive another meeting with Relena.  
  
And there had been the aborted returning of Trowa to his apartment, so they   
could detour to the Selfish Gene.  
  
Heero leaned back in his seat, letting the aggressive words of the poet sear his   
thoughts with vivid images of lost individuality.   
  
"Come back to me."   
  
That voice, the one that could quell any darkness, pushed through the poet's   
microphoned amplification of meter and rhyme. Trowa's voice. Heero didn't   
open his eyes, even after he felt the first tentative brush of fingers along his jaw   
line. He waited for the voice again.   
  
"Heero."  
  
"What?" he growled emotionally, sitting upright and turning to glare back at   
Trowa over his shoulder. They shared one side of the side table to better see the   
evening's artists perform.   
  
"Just checking," Trowa laughed, a bit nervously, "It was a pretty long   
afternoon, and I figured that if you were going to sleep . . . it might as well be in   
your own bed."  
  
"I'm . . . awake." Heero regretted his unbridled reaction, inevitably he always   
felt as if he made Trowa uncomfortable, distant or doubtful. Even when Trowa   
reassuringly came without questions, or when he reached out to set his hand just   
next to his own. Still tentative. "Don't doubt me." Heero said bluntly. "I'm   
awake." He leaned in, pushing Trowa against the wall with surprise, faces close.   
  
"Just checking." Trowa repeated, his breath rich with the textures of his drink.   
  
"Just checking," Heero's echo close enough that his lips whispered over   
Trowa's.  
  
"You are here. Hey, Keisuke, I told you, Trowa is back here." Sylvia's voice   
carried, and glancing over Heero saw her watching them a few feet away with a   
sparkling smirk crossing her features. A moment later, Keisuke Yuki was   
beside her waving with enthusiasm and a cheerful grin.  
  
"Good to see you again, pal," Keisuke said as he and Sylvia took the open   
opposite seats. "I have a few more scripts to try getting initially approved by   
Mister Tough As Nails here . . . perhaps you'd read through them Trowa. Since   
you have the inside pull and all."  
  
"I couldn't really . . . but I'll read them." Trowa added the last bit hastily, trying   
more successfully than Heero was at enjoying the energetic sandy-haired man's   
company. "Are you reading tonight?"  
  
"Keisuke has a few good poems, and then all these others that he's insisting on   
reading as well . . ." Sylvia balanced her cheek against one of her hands.   
  
"They're all good poems, Syl," Keisuke defended himself, a talent Heero noticed   
long ago that Keisuke excelled at, "You're just too civilized to appreciate the   
love poems."  
  
"Don't get me wrong, love poems are swell . . ." Sylvia began, "But I think that a   
few of them are too personal for this audience. Especially the one about the   
orange blossoms."  
  
Keisuke frowned, bewildered. "Poems do contain true feelings of love or pain   
or . . ." then he was lost in thought, distracted by the steady voice still coming   
from the stage.   
  
He didn't seem to hear when Sylvia addressed the other two men directly, with   
one hand pulled up to symbolize secrecy, "He's too chicken to go up there   
anyway. I'm trying to give him an excuse so he doesn't get sick."  
  
"Hn." Heero's gaze wandered around the other tables spread about in front of   
the small stage and toward the dim glow of the stairwell to the upper level exit.   
Keisuke did bring in a good play every now and again, but his writing was often   
an inconsistent vision. The Asian man had to admit that was a well-suited   
match for the inconsistent Glass House. If only he could rid himself of   
troublesome distractions altogether. Even as he watched the other members of   
the audience, he leaned back to balance against the comfort of Trowa's near arm   
and shoulder.  
  
I want to move on, but I know when to stay  
Oh you can stand there all day, you can shoulder the blame  
But they're spoiling the paintwork and they're ruining the line  
And I've been here before and it ain't worth your overtime  
  
Catherine jumped when the knock at the door became louder. She'd fallen   
asleep on the couch, exhausted. Her eyes ached with unnatural dryness, and she   
already felt the creases of the couch's pillow lining her face. She'd fallen into a   
deep, yet restless slumber.  
  
The last thing she wanted was a visitor.   
  
"Who is it?" She said, then felt rising bitterness that she'd betrayed her   
presence.  
  
"It's me, Cathy." The voice of the boyish rooster head, and the reminder of all   
the choices she'd been putting off.   
  
She rolled slightly, letting one arm fold over her forehead. Blocking the   
industrial glow of the overhead light. Wondering if she turned it off, if things   
could go back the way they were before. Before the flippant affair with a good   
boy's heart, before the broken vows and the unexpected child. Before the   
attraction to the comforting habits of alcohol and the recklessness of hasty,   
convoluted sex.   
  
When things had been innocent and easy. When she only had to go to the next   
room to confide with her best friend, her step brother.   
  
She could talk to Trowa about anything. And she'd had his undivided interest,   
until Heero's desperate attempt for attention. She'd had such important news to   
tell him that evening. Instead, she had clutched his shoulders in the emergency   
room, dreadfully afraid that the blade that had torn Trowa's palm might have   
done more damage. Trowa had simply kept his eyes on the bandaged hand, with   
an odd fixation.   
  
If she hadn't realized the depth of the fixation, she would have asked him that   
evening. She would have asked him what to do. About Duo Maxwell's   
proposal.   
  
But he had no reason to ask her not to marry Duo. He was fixated, on saving   
Heero Yuy.  
  
So she had said yes.   
  
The yes that had enabled her to destroy everything she tried to build around her.   
  
"Catherine," Sano's voice again. "Let me come in." She could tell from the tone   
of his voice that he was at a loss. The earnest boy would have consoled her with   
words if he only knew which ones he was meant to say.   
  
She would not destroy more innocence with a yes. She said, "No."  
  
They've got me running around but it's not work that they've found  
Just something to keep me occupied  
And all the knowledge I crave is waiting there in my grave  
So it seems - jump or be sane  
Jump or be sane  
Jump or be sane  
Jump or be sane  
Jump or be sane  
  
"Personal." Saitou stood next to Juri, again clarifying.   
  
"I'd imagine so." Juri nodded, "Although today, I can't say for sure. I know that   
he was trying to solve a crisis of sorts yesterday."  
  
"I trust Trowa to make the best decisions for the theater as well. Let me know if   
I should be concerned." Saitou said dryly. Still, Juri was amazed with his   
abundance of forgiveness for the absent Trowa Barton. She had to hope that the   
reasons were as important as were necessary for Trowa to neglect the theater,   
still she wondered if Heero Yuy was a potential nuisance for Trowa's   
participation in the new production.  
  
She scanned the theater, the greatest commotion a pool of swooning extras   
who'd swarmed around the elegantly spoken Saionji. The newcomer had curled   
and dyed his long hair for the show, and the rich green apparently didn't disturb   
his fan club in the least.   
  
Also on stage, Dorothy was rehearsing her leading solo at the piano with   
Kozue's brother. Spike had made the embarrassing mistake of catching the   
professional pianist from behind and mistaking the boy for his nearly identical   
twin sister. Even from that distance, Juri could see the continuing red flush of   
the bashful boy's features.  
  
Mikage was maneuvering behind them all, winding an extension cord around his   
arm. Utena was rebalancing the thin metal sword prop in Nichol's wrist, then   
took a step back so they could practice their climatic duel together.  
  
Juri still wasn't finding Shiori. She wondered where the girl was. For the first   
time, it seemed that everything had been taken apart, piece by piece, and put   
back together upside down and backwards. She began to rotate in a small circle,   
searching the seats.   
  
"What are you looking for?" Shiori asked from the doorway. Juri momentarily   
started, feeling caught.  
  
"Just looking." Juri said simply, "Welcome, how are you?"  
  
"I'm fine." Shiori said, stepping wide around the taller woman and proceeding   
down the center aisle.  
  
Juri sighed, shaking her head. "That could have gone better."   
  
Catch me if you can, my feet won't ever feel the ground again  
So let the overture take over and the symphony restrain  
Let the orchestra be passion and the timpani's the rain  
  
"If you don't want me to stop by, then simply say so." Shin hovered in the   
doorway, watching Faye scramble around to gather her things, falling to the   
center of the blue carpeted floor and lacing up her tennis shoes.   
  
"It's so cold." Her teeth chattered, even as she pulled her socks up as far as they   
would go under the black athletic pants. She grabbed a light sweater jacket and   
a fuzzy band to wrap around her ears. Shin smiled bemused, in his own long   
sleeved shirt and loose grey shorts. She had complained about not getting out as   
often as she might like, so he'd suggest she come along for part of his morning   
jogs since they both had such late schedules that season. For the first effort,   
Faye was remarkably making progress, still she couldn't hide the enormous   
yawn even behind both hands. "Too early, too cold." She zipped up the   
sweater, and began to rummage in her closet for a pair of gloves.  
  
"Ready now?" Shin accepted her chattering teeth bobbing up and down as   
consent, and ushered her along at a fair swift pace. The autumn sunrise was   
already well announced to the sky, with rose colored accents on the morning   
clouds.   
  
"Okay, that's good enough." Faye said at the end of the block, her nose   
significantly rosy itself, yet they continued anyway. A block later she repeated   
the sentiment, adding, "Saitou'll expect me at the theater in three hours."  
  
Shin chuckled, admiring her perseverance. He'd found that Faye did what she   
wanted to do no matter how reluctant she might be, and she always got along   
farther without a quarrel from him or submission. He just let her make   
comments.  
  
Jogging in place at a rather busy intersection, he couldn't help but take the time   
to admire her vibrant glow and wind chapped cheeks. She hadn't given any true   
complaints, but maybe the autumn was becoming too cold for her to stay out so   
long. He reconsidered getting them both memberships at the gym his old   
roommate worked at, not wanting to neglect any earnest concerns.   
  
When the light changed, they hurried across. With Faye's loud frustrations, "I   
don't wanna . . . let's go back." Still she smiled brightly. Something he needed   
to see, and it warmed him more than anything else.  
  
It's a mean machine keep it tight, keep it clean  
Just something to keep me occupied  
And as a matter of course be not vexed by remorse  
  
"She makes me insane."  
  
"And you drive her into frustrated confusion." Trowa said softly, counterpoint   
to Heero's outburst. "Truth is, Heero, you have to make your own decision   
about the Glass House. And soon. Either deny her offer, accept her partnership   
or sell the theater. But don't hover in such uncertainty. It isn't good for you."  
  
After yet another meeting, they'd gone back to Heero's home, the same house   
that he grew up in when they were younger friends. Immediately, Heero had   
gone to the kitchen sink to not only drink a glass of water, but also to splash   
some against his face as well. Trowa hovered in the doorway.   
  
Trowa added, "You won't have to listen to another of her new proposals if you   
know what you've decided to do."  
  
Heero growled deeply in his throat, "Proposals. Did you know that when Touga   
distracted you with his dissertation on the importance of good cellular coverage,   
this woman asked to see me . . . on more intimate terms."  
  
"Oh," Trowa said, trying not to react. Even though Relena's intentions had been   
obvious to him from the beginning.  
  
Heero watched him for a minute, "You're the only one I want intimate terms   
with. Got it?" He crossed over, his features softening and his voice as well,   
"Did you hear me?"   
  
"Yeah," Trowa replied, "I hear you."  
  
"Well, then," Heero said abruptly, "What do you want me to do? What do you   
want?"  
  
"Heero," Trowa said patiently, "You'll have to choose what to tell her."  
  
"No, baka," The Asian man laughed, however vexed. "I mean what do you want   
me to do with you? Are these mutually intimate terms? What if I wanted to   
contract you into a partnership?"  
  
"You've always had my friendship."   
  
Heero watched Trowa's last reluctance dissolving. "I'd like to keep that as well,"   
Heero pressed, "Whatever happens. You've always helped me when I've needed   
you. But, I love you, and with that I'll need your help as well."  
  
"I'll always help you."   
  
"Trowa," Heero said, frustrated, "Don't tease me."  
  
"Tease you?" Trowa reached out and hooked the back of Heero's neck with the   
crook of his elbow, pulling him in, kissing him. "Choose what you're going to   
do. I'll be here." The words breathed from his mouth when Heero let him take   
time speak. "I'm not leaving."  
  
I'm not lost but one who's gone before  
Then it seems jump or be sane  
Jump or be sane  
Jump or be sane  
Jump or be sane 


	19. Experiendo Discimus

Experiendo Discimus   
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: yap-pa-yap-pa-pa alternate reality shmoshi-shmoshi-shmoshi   
crossover ta ta ta Catatonia. And I found my college Latin book. How   
inspiring! Salvete.)  
  
Amicitia non semper intellegitur, sed sentitur.  
~Friendship is not always understood, but it is felt.  
  
  
"What do you want?" Juri said tonelessly, not looking up from her script. The   
cast was more than a full week into production for the latest show, and Saitou   
was at that time working very diligently with his frequently absent narrator,   
Trowa Barton, who'd actually managed to come in on time and stay all day. Juri   
had been quite relieved to see his sheepish grin that morning since the usually   
reliable actor had been rather distracted by the re-ignition of an old flame. A   
flame that seemed to have left her friend relatively unburned and without regret;   
however, she had as of yet to see any benefit from it.   
  
"Well, he made it today." Dorothy said instead of answering. She had just sat   
next to Juri, and was running her fingers through her hair and then resting her   
chin against them. Leaning in toward the other woman. "We'll see how long   
Heero can let our boy wander about before he reels Trowa back in again." She   
added in a low tone.  
  
"I take it you don't approve?" Juri glanced over, curious. Dorothy seldom   
seemed to show a genuine fiber. Everything she said or did had multiple layers   
of untrustworthiness. As if life were all a game of burying yourself so deeply   
that you survive everything else. Survival seldom included the well-being of   
others.  
  
"Who would!" Dorothy said with her put-on gaily, "It's so annoying to see how   
pathetically delighted he makes Trowa."  
  
"How does he do it . . ." Juri mumbled, tossing out the words without care. She   
didn't particularly want to spar words with Dorothy.  
  
"Trowa's weak." Dorothy replied simply. Then paused to let the implications   
sink in. "That's why nothing changes."  
  
"Weakness doesn't always mean that one will be unhappy." Juri felt herself   
slipping into the conversation anyway. Her eyes weren't focusing on the words   
anymore. And the pleasant sound of Shiori's duet was echoing around the   
corners of the hall.   
  
"Happy, huh?" Dorothy purred. "I wouldn't find weakness particularly pleasing   
. . . now you do disagree with me." She let her voice adopt a challenge.  
  
"Perhaps he's not so weak." Juri felt some satisfaction in entering an argument.   
"At least he's following through on his feelings. Unlike those who fear them."   
  
Dorothy's eyes flashed, "I'd say those are forces you understand quite well."  
  
"What?" Juri leaned forward, not going to back down in a conversation with the   
flaxen haired actor who fixed her eyes with the power of an experienced vixen.   
"We're not so unalike, Dorothy." Juri emphasized each word. "However, I   
would never pursue my feelings as if I were playing with a toy."  
  
"But it is a game." Dorothy let a finger slide across her lower lip. "And   
everyone else seems to be playing, except you—of course." Dorothy's laughter   
covering each thought, almost concealing her words. "I'd worry about learning   
the rules, before they're completely reversed." Dorothy gathered the things from   
her lap into her pale arms and stretching out her neck, stood. Juri watched the   
other woman's back, shifting slightly from one foot to the next as she added,   
"When it comes, don't miss your turn."  
  
Was that regret in her voice? Juri immediately looked past Dorothy, to where   
Shiori was standing breathless from her nearing flawless performance. Next to   
her, Nichol had draped his thick arm around her shoulders even as he leaned   
away from the girl to tip her chin with his other hand. Both conversing with   
Saitou. Not so unusual, since they did have most of their scenes together. And   
most rehearsals. And that song . . . they performed together.   
  
And then everything began to sink.   
  
Small wonder, you've not heard from her  
She's gone now, back in England  
She got spirit, will go farther  
But she can't see the romance in the color of your schemes  
  
"Mr. Sagara?"  
  
"Yeah," Sanosuke said sharply into his telephone. He was going to personally   
unpluck feather by feather whoever was calling him. It was before nine in the   
morning. "What is it?"  
  
The voice wavered at the unexpected hostility, "Sir, we filled the order as you   
had asked. Even taking the arrangement secondly to the office as were your   
instructions. However, we were informed, sir, that the young lady no longer has   
that apartment."  
  
"What?" Sano said, the grogginess slipping from his throat, leaving it dry and   
hoarse.   
  
"The address. Ms. Bloom no longer lives there."  
  
"What?" He repeated dumbly.   
  
"Where would you like us to send everything? Did you have another address?"  
  
"What?" His free hand kneading the skin of his forehead, then moving to the   
back of his neck, "Another address? There is no other address." Then he added,   
"She has to be there."  
  
"Um, perhaps the office could give you a forwarding address, sir?" The voice   
turned kind. "Maybe she's with family?"  
  
"Trowa." Sano said triumphantly, immediately hitting the phone to it's cradle,   
then picking it up again. "Trowa, Trowa . . . hmm." Sano held the phone   
against his ear with one shoulder, walking over to fumble through the paperwork   
on his desk. The dial tone momentarily reminding him that he'd forgotten about   
the gift shop's original question. "Here it is. Trowa Barton."  
  
While the phone called out, he felt his palms suddenly turn very damp. His bare   
feet, chilled against the thin apartment carpet. What the heck was he going to   
say to Cathy's brother? No one knew . . . the phone continued to ring. His   
worry gradually distracted by the duration of the unanswered call. He reviewed   
the schedule. Trowa didn't have to be at the theater until twelve . . .   
  
"Who is it?" The voice answering the phone was not Cathy's brother.   
  
Sano started, "Uh, Trowa . . .?"  
  
"He's busy. Who are you?" It was not a very friendly voice, and Sano began to   
suspect that it was the fellow Trowa was supposedly seeing. Then again, Sano   
remembered that he himself hadn't exactly been that happy to wake up when the   
phone rang.  
  
"This is . . . " Sano started, then he paused. "Should I call back?" He did not   
want to be calling and interrupting and irritating his girlfriend's brother. "I'll call   
back." Sano offered, not wanting to think about it too much.  
  
"Good idea. He's in the shower. Wait." The voice still seemed irritated.  
  
Sano waited, hearing a second voice. "Was that the phone? Who was it?"  
  
"Hn," came the voice of the obviously preoccupied stranger, "They'll call back."  
  
The dial tone again. And Sano sighed, increasingly relieved. What the heck did   
he think he was going to say or ask?   
  
Then he reflected. He'd somehow lost her. He'd lost Catherine. She wouldn't   
answer the door or his calls. And now, she was apparently gone.   
  
Setting the phone down, he slumped into the desk chair. Staring. Tired of   
staring he let his eyes close. More than anything, he wanted to hear her voice.   
To watch her start a smile, her lips parting with hesitation. Then letting them   
free. Because, she could smile in front of him. He wanted to make her smile. If   
only she were free of whatever held her back, made her hesitate.   
  
If so little else did, then he would. She only had to let him.  
  
She had to.  
  
She had left. Standing up abruptly, Sano grabbed a shirt and pulled a pair of   
jeans from the floor. He would see this for himself. And then . . . if she'd gone.   
He'd find her. He would. He would ask whomever exactly whatever needed to   
be asked.  
  
One doubt, reluctantly freed, haunted his bravado.   
  
What if this was her final way of saying, "No."?  
  
The color of your schemes, oh...  
But you know and I, that all girls are fly  
And all men must die, for their cars...  
  
The familiar squeal of a suddenly started engine, and he looked once again at the   
front of the Glass House. The sun reflecting from the windows, concealing   
everything inside. Trowa breathed in the brisk morning air, cooler for all of the   
shadows, and turned to smile softly at Heero.  
  
"I should actually make it back to the Road Rage by noon at this rate," Trowa   
said, "And if that truly was our last meeting, I shouldn't miss any more   
rehearsals."  
  
"Do you mind?" Heero said, after a little silence. His question reluctant for it's   
necessity.   
  
Trowa chuckled, "If it wasn't, would I have come?"  
  
"Hn." Heero sounded thoughtful. "I'm . . . glad."  
  
Trowa's eyebrow lifted as he intentionally began to lean nearer to his friend,   
"Me, too." His voice once hushed, regained it's normal volume. "I'm glad   
whenever you're with me. I . . . I want you to meet my friends at the Road Rage.   
They've made me feel very welcome."  
  
Heero glanced over quickly, then held the steering wheel with a stronger one-  
handed grip. "You're not coming back?"  
  
"Back?" Trowa wondered, "Back to the Glass House? Is that what you mean?"  
  
"I'm keeping it," Heero said simply, "I want you there. With me."  
  
"Heero, I . . . I haven't thought that far in advance." Trowa turned to look out   
the car window. Brushing his reddish-brown hair from where it blew around his   
eyes, and glancing rather sorrowfully at the swiftly passing buildings. "I have   
this show to see through. And then . . . I'll still be with you. Regardless."  
  
"I thought you left the Glass House only because of me."  
  
"Well, yes." Trowa admitted, "The split wasn't really why I left. I just didn't   
want to be there when you got back. I wasn't sure you'd want to see me. I   
wasn't sure I would be able to stay near you any longer." Then he added lightly,   
"Not that I'm in doubt now . . ."  
  
"I'd hope not." Heero scowled, but Trowa felt the affection hidden deeply   
within the contours of the otherwise familiar frown.   
  
"To be honest," Trowa sighed, knowing he couldn't avoid the questions. "I'm   
glad I went to the Road Rage. It's refreshing to work with them . . ."  
  
Heero's head slipped forward, his dark hair falling against his cheeks. Trowa   
could sense his sadness and almost took back everything he'd just said when   
Heero's lips moved. "Okay."  
  
"Okay?" Trowa repeated, afraid he was misunderstanding.  
  
"Okay." Heero glanced over again, almost bashful. "It's okay. Just, please   
remember, I need you too."  
  
"Got it." Trowa said, trying to adopt a light approach even as he felt swallowed   
by relief. "You'll never be rid of me."  
  
"Hn. I've known you long enough to realize that." Heero scoffed. Trying to   
regain his rough edge.  
  
"Heero?"  
  
"Hn?"  
  
"Will you come in?"  
  
"Hn."  
  
Why blunder? There's no wonder  
You've been feeling, six feet under  
  
"Faye!" Sano hissed, trying to get his sister's attention from the stage without   
Saitou noticing him. He was only a little late, but wasn't certain if Saitou was   
out for his blood yet or if he hadn't realized the younger Sagara was absent.   
Sano highly doubted the latter.  
  
She turned slightly, twisting so that her dark hair slid along the line of her cheek   
as it was trimmed short. Her eyes widened slightly and she tipped her head   
Saitou's direction as a grimace crossed her features. Then he knew for sure   
things were not so good. Well, he was almost an hour late, truth told. He   
ducked down along the side of the stage and waited for Faye to come to him.  
  
"You rooster head," She scolded, slipping off the stage and crouching next to   
him. "Saitou's scalping people today right and left. Why are you late?"  
  
Sano's jaw worked, but no words came out. "Well, it's sort of serious, sis."  
  
"Huh?" Faye half-frowned, then tried smiling. "Are you serious?"  
  
"I just said I was." Sano's voice lowered, his brow furrowed. "Do you think I'd   
shrug off rehearsal for any old reason?"  
  
"Well," Faye looked thoughtful.  
  
"Stop it!" Sano growled, "I'm not in high school anymore."  
  
"Not by much," Faye couldn't resist, but tempered her bantering.  
  
"I'm not a kid." Sano said with finality in his tone. "And I'm tired of people   
thinking I can't handle grown-up things. I'm going on twenty-two here!"  
  
"That's old?" Faye laughed, "You do alright. But don't expect much." She was   
surprised to see him wilt without retort. "Okay, let's slip out back and you can   
tell me all about it. I need a smoke anyway. I'm getting nervous, between stage   
managing and the fact my baby brother is getting all serious . . ."  
  
Sano followed her and still wasn't certain what he was planning on telling her.   
Everything? Should he try the classic 'I have this friend . . .'? She was dense   
enough sometimes she might buy into it for about five minutes. He studied the   
floor as he continued to follow her.  
  
"Trowa! You made it!" Faye said, a bit startled.   
  
Sano looked up sharply. They'd just turned down the hall toward the back   
entrance. Where Trowa was stepping a more acceptable distance from a shorter   
dark man. Sano stopped and wondered if that was the person he'd spoken with   
earlier. Remembering what Cathy had said about someone with whom Trowa   
had become uncommonly obsessed.   
  
"Faye. Sano." Trowa nodded.  
  
"Saitou's in the worst mood." Faye continued, "But I'm sure he'll relax once   
you're around. This place could use more of the responsible sort."  
  
"Right." Trowa tipped his head to one side, smiling easily.   
  
Sano visibly flinched at the ghostly similarity of that happy expression. The   
other man watched them closely, making Sano even more uncomfortable. He   
fought down his automatic response to make a sharp remark.  
  
"Anyway, Faye. Sano. This is Heero Yuy. He's a long time friend of mine and   
. . ."   
  
"Trowa's offered to show me around." Heero interrupted.   
  
Faye laughed, "Hey, don't let us bother you, but trust me, Heero, . . . there are   
more ~interesting~ places in the theater Trowa can show you than this hallway."  
  
"Thanks, Faye." Trowa shook his head, with a bemused breath.   
  
Sano found his tongue, "Don't let this uppity girl bother you guys. I'll take her   
from here." He locked one hand under her elbow and half lifted, half dragged   
Faye around them and out the back door. Trying not to notice the newly   
intrigued look that Trowa's friend was giving them.   
  
He closed the door behind them securely and taking Faye's handbag pulled out a   
cigarette to thrust toward her. "Smoke. Here." He offered the lighter as she   
tipped her head forward, balancing the cigarette in her lips. She pulled in a   
breath as he continued to talk. "I need you to be discrete on this, which means   
that no one besides Shin gets to know. Alright?"  
  
"Sure." Faye crossed her arms, less annoyed with each crease compounding   
upon her brother's expression.  
  
Make it happen, you, it could happen  
But don't forget to turn the light off if you're last to leave  
If you're last to leave here...  
  
"Trowa."  
  
"Yeah?" The slim actor stopped staring after Sano and Faye to see Heero's   
puzzled look.  
  
"That boy." Heero said, glancing at the closed door, "I'm sure he's the person   
who called you this morning."  
  
"Sano?" Trowa asked, unworried. "I don't know why he would call, but it must   
have been about the show. I'll ask him later."  
  
"Hn." Heero nodded, still curious about the way Sano had reacted to Trowa.   
Not in a threatening way, but more as if he was particularly awkward seeing   
them. Specifically Trowa. "We bothered him."  
  
"Well, everyone'll just have to get used to us." Trowa reassured, appearing   
somewhat surprised at Heero's comments. Heero wasn't certain how to make the   
explanation anymore clear, and he couldn't resist the pull that Trowa was putting   
on his arm. "There are so many people I want you to meet." Trowa's smile was   
enough to melt away his lingering curiosity.  
  
Heero found enduring the lengthy greetings easy enough. Fortunately, many of   
the questions overlapped each other so that he didn't have to answer many of   
them. For the most part, they accepted him as Trowa's significant other. From   
the most interested, he'd recognized Juri Arisugawa immediately, and she stood   
nearby through all the introductions almost as a continuing wall of support.   
  
Not that he'd sensed much hostility. Of course, Dorothy and Nichol needed no   
introduction.   
  
"Fancy seeing you here," Dorothy smiled in an aloof manner. Trowa had to   
begin his scenes and Heero, having little else to do that day, agreed to stay for   
the rest of rehearsal. Dorothy had found him in the back row. Somehow   
maintaining their fragilely won civility, she added. "Although, I'm not terribly   
surprised that you're still taking the opportunity to let Trowa take care of you."   
  
"Dorothy." Heero let a warning slip into his tone, "You might get to play with   
him during the day. But I'm the person he comes home to."  
  
"Yes, too bad for me." Dorothy replied, still glib and not responding to Heero's   
undertones. "It could have been different, but men are stubborn." She turned   
her face from the stage to watch Heero's reaction, "Still, we'll just have to see   
what happens."   
  
Heero watched her blankly. He didn't care for her much, except that she was   
another one of Trowa's friends. And a friend that bluntly disapproved of   
sharing. He appreciated her frankness with him and decided to respond in kind,   
"Don't waste your time. I'm not letting him go this time."  
  
"You'd be an idiot if you did." And she was gone.  
  
'Cos you know and I, that all girls are fly  
And all men must die, for their cars  
And you know and I, that all men are fly  
And all girls must die, or something... 


	20. Captus Nihil Dixit

Captus Nihil Dixit  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: That rascally Latin book is amusing me to no end. The last chapter's title Experiendo Discimus means "we learn by experiencing." This time around, the phrase means, "having been captured, he said nothing." Okay so there is some strange connection in my mind, and I'll allow you to make your own if you'd like. In the same way, these anime series while normally not connected to each other have made some sort of strange bond in this alternate playground. And the lyrics are-surprisingly--Starsailor this time around. A little different . . . but much is the same.)  
  
"You're new here?"   
  
Heero glanced up from where he'd slumped into the back seat of the Road Rage auditorium balancing his boots against the seat in front of him. The shadows had more or less absorbed him into a comfortable silence. Watching as the strangers rehearsed on a strange stage so unlike the Glass House he was used to. Yet strangely familiar parallels.  
  
"Hi." Heero said, as the newcomer sat a seat away. Leaving appropriate space.  
  
"I'm Alexander Edinburgh, or Shin as most people call me." The boy grinned easily enough. "I'm sort of attached to the theater via Miss Sagara. I'm Faye's boyfriend." Offering a hand.  
  
Heero managed to accept it without moving much. "Heero Yuy. I'm with Trowa Barton."  
  
"Ah." Shin's eyes widened just enough that Heero understood that it was new information. He'd had that look quite a bit that afternoon when Trowa had briefly introduced the cast. "I heard about the House." Shin continued, "But the last show held up quite well."  
  
"Thanks." Heero said, not terribly encouraged nor offended.   
  
"Shin!" And the tomboyish young woman had swiftly made her way back to them. "You came, finally."  
  
"What's the matter?" Shin stood immediately, and Heero noticed the delicate way the friendly boy radiated affection in everyway but touching her. Chin down, shoulders forward, arms curling around. And the ever-present smile. Heero turned away, shutting his eyes and doing so could make out the rich tones of Trowa's voice through the general bustle of conversations.  
  
"I didn't see it coming? Did you?" Faye's voice rising over all others to a rather impatient volume. "Sano didn't know if he should try to find her. But, what if she's really in trouble?"  
  
"Have you told Trowa?"  
  
Heero's interested turned back to the near-by conversation. The two young people had pulled back into the deeper shadows, but his hearing was acute even more so when he focused. He tilted his head to one side, letting his mane of dark hair half conceal the glance he sent back their direction. The girl was shaking her head with frustrated reluctance. Then Shin motioned her back into the auditorium.  
  
Back on the stage, Heero found Trowa's tall form, seeming more lean in the dark colors of his clothes. Crossing his arms, the watcher leaned forward so that his mouth was pressed up to his knees. Thinking.  
  
Get back on your feet again -  
So insincere -  
Crying American  
I held you so dear  
  
"I see Heero is as moody as ever." Dorothy smoothed the skin beneath her eyes. Studying the mirror and admiring her complexion.   
  
"Oh really?" Nichol leaned in the doorway. "I hadn't really noticed."  
  
"Of course not, darling," Dorothy unclipped the heavily jeweled ornaments for her usual earrings. Her character was a carefully adorned creature, with plenty of accessories, so Dorothy was using the elaborately decorated pair as her tentative first step into her character during the early rehearsals. She attached to one prop to establish the scene and the rest became arbitrary extras. "If you were observant, we'd all be in much more danger. As it is, you haven't even spoken with the Tyrannical Yuy, have you?"  
  
"I don't have anything against Yuy, really . . ." Nichol began.  
  
"Except Trowa."  
  
"Not even that." Nichol laughed, "He can have the pansy boy if he wants. I certainly don't."  
  
"The pansy that distracted your lady." Dorothy added quite charmingly. She watched from the mirror as Nichol's expression immediately darken, but Dorothy continued before he could protest the point. "Not that you haven't kept yourself well entertained in the meantime."  
  
"You mean the pet?" Nichol smirked, "She is a wicked little thing, isn't she?"  
  
Dorothy leaned back in her seat to face him directly. Her hair folding over her shoulder like a veil.  
"Giving her quite the education then?"   
  
"Heh," Nichol breathed with arrogant disbelief, "I wouldn't waste my time. But she's got enough spunk to fuel her own fire."   
  
"As long as it's fun."  
  
"Only when it's fun.' Nichol, distracted, turned from the doorway. "At least I've learned not to make favorites." Waving from behind as he disappeared down the hall.  
  
Dorothy scowled at his back.  
  
Get back on your feet again -  
So into you -  
We met in the cinema  
You felt from my view  
  
Opening the door with more than a little fear, she wiped her arm across a weary brow with relief when there was no one on the couch, no messages on the answering machine, no letters slipped under the door, no immediate problems to face. Catherine glanced around her new permanent home, hastily unpacked and beginning to resemble a place where she could live. Start over.  
  
She's spent the better part of the day looking over the relatively small office she was going to be using as her contact point for future catering business. A portion of it was already fitted to work as a small kitchen, for those things that had to be prepared before the party service. When the landlord had suggested she quit overseeing the last renovations, Cathy had to admit that a nap sounded good.  
  
She slipped through the still overstuffed with boxes hallway and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her new bedroom. It was the safe haven of the entire apartment, completely free of the hurried presence of boxes.  
  
She browsed her small bookshelf and pulled out a well tattered romance novel that always amused her until she drifted off to sleep. It had been a while since she'd packed it away. An envelope marked the place where she'd last been reading. Curling in between the pillows and pulling the top blanket over her lap, she opened to those pages and realized how long it had been since she'd packed the book away.  
  
It had been right after she'd demanded Duo let her move out.  
  
And the letter he'd written to her was still angrily stashed where she'd been reading when he'd handed it to her. For great communicators, they'd been reduced to bitter typed words those last days. She felt the flush of humiliation as she remembered using Helen to give her daddy messages. So tempered that she couldn't pretend to be civil. And yet, it all seemed so long ago. So long ago that Catherine could feel regret for her behavior. But no matter how much regret she had felt, nothing ever changed.  
  
She tore the end of the envelope more as she pulled the letter out again. It had been the last.   
  
*Cathy, I'm taking Helen to the movies after school tomorrow. You had promised, it was your thing to do together, but with everything else? I can't stand watching her wait for you. I can't believe how horrid this whole thing has turned out. So, I want you to make up your mind. When we come back Friday evening, I don't expect you to be here. Duo.*   
  
*I don't expect you to be here.* She re-read the last line. It was something she'd gotten used to.   
  
Lullaby, stop twisting my words tonight  
If you get high on life -  
Don´t leave me behind  
  
"Heero?" There it was again.  
  
"Hn." Heero hardly wanted to move his head away from the shoulder it was resting against. It felt so heavy.  
  
"I don't know how . . . but you can sleep anywhere."  
  
But the shoulder was his own after all, and the voice was getting dangerously close to his uplifted ear. Vulnerable to the texture of the words. He sensed Trowa folding over the back of the chair, and narrowly opening his eyes saw Trowa's sideways smile.   
  
"Don't tell me we were that dull?"  
  
"Worse." Heero growled groggily.   
  
"Hungry?" Trowa straightened up again as Heero sat up, putting his feet back on the floor for the first time since he'd sat down. His shoulders were understandably stiff.   
  
"No."  
  
"Too bad," Trowa mussed Heero's hair in a mock attempt to organize it. "I invited Juri to come to dinner with us. You need to see the International Velvet, it's sort of the Selfish Gene for this place."  
  
"Hello, Heero." Juri had walked up to them at that point. A smaller woman with a strikingly unnatural hair color at her shoulder. Heero almost remembered her. Then she smiled, slightly, at him. A strange smile that promised a strong rival if aroused. That smile, he remembered.  
  
"We're going to dinner together." Heero said simply, wishing he wasn't separated from Trowa by a row of chairs. The woman and the girl blocked the nearest exit.  
  
"And I invited Shiori, if that's alright?" Juri's voice promised that any difficulty could change the plans without hesitation. Heero snorted instinctually, the woman was obliging and kind to a fault, reminding him oddly enough of Trowa. He knew they'd become quite close during Trowa's time at the Road Rage, understandably so. Their souls were embroidered from the same sound integrity. Something preciously rare, he thought, sensing that Shiori held something else in the light of her ordinary eyes.  
  
"Sure," Trowa said, quickly to cover Heero's apparently dismayed reaction. "I don't think I've had your company much." Trowa nodded to the girl who shrugged demurely.  
  
"I tend to absorb myself in character once the show starts." Shiori's voice comment was as general as her appearance, state university pull-over and faded jeans. Even though he was intrigued by the others, Heero found it much easier to watch how Trowa's throat worked over the collar of his dark sweater.  
  
"Should we be off?" Trowa put his hands together. Deciding, Heero climbed over the back of the chair.  
  
Get back on your feet again -  
Nothing to say -  
Some of your weaker friends get in my way  
  
"Do you think she'd hurt herself?"  
  
Faye's question haunted him more because he hadn't thought of it himself. Sano had waited in the foyer, until he saw Juri closely followed by Shiori, then Trowa and Heero. He turned away, then was immediately angry with himself for reacting so strongly at Trowa. It wasn't as if they had any true connection. But the instantaneous jealousy of the established relationship that Trowa permanently had with Catherine shamed him. When he had time to think about it, he recognized it for what it was.  
  
In the meantime, he tried to pretend he was doing exercises with his neck.   
  
"Oh, Sanosuke," Juri said softly, "I'm sorry, I didn't tell you that I wouldn't need a ride tonight."  
  
"It's Friday." Sano shrugged. "Makes sense that you'd have plans, I just wanted to check." The rooster-head stood, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and slinking toward the front door hoping that no one would comment.  
  
"Still, I'm sure you had some plans tonight as well."  
  
"Not really." Sano kept walking, willing himself to believe that no one knew what double meaning words might have for him.  
  
"Want to come with us?" Trowa's invitation splintered the back of Sano's brain like a well placed knife. "It's just to International Velvet."  
  
"Or some other time." Heero said curtly.   
  
"Yeah, some other time." Sano lifted a hand in a half-wave and pushed through the front doors. Relief stuck him as quickly as the evening's last sunlight. Not caring what they thought. And frustrated at his inability to speak the truth as he would otherwise. Truth be told, he felt very young.  
  
Get back on your feet again -  
Always seems down  
Some of your weaker friends  
Don´t want you around...  
  
Whatever Trowa had been drinking made him glow warmly even in the darkening lights of the International Velvet. Soon being connected at the knee wasn't enough. Heero pulled back his chair and said gruffly, "Can't insult the music by not dancing to it."  
  
"Damn you're romantic." Trowa looked up, amazed. He smiled apologetically to their companions and let himself be led away. They lost themselves into the dizzying fray for a moment. Every once and a while, Heero pulling Trowa back toward him.  
  
"Don't get lost." Heero warned. The flashing of a light suddenly making each movement seem individually placed, solid in time.  
  
"I'm right here." Coaxed the taller man, twisting behind Heero and wrapped himself around Heero's shoulders. Leaning in to breath close to the dark man's cheek.  
  
"I've got something serious to say." Heero turned into Trowa's chest and was almost distracted from his mission by the nearness of it all.  
  
"Right." Trowa agreed with a light laugh, "I take everything you say seriously."  
  
"Shh." Heero interrupted, then reflected. "Damn, you're going to lose interest after this. Wait a moment." Heero reached up to pull on Trowa's lower lip with his kiss. It didn't take long for Trowa to prefer the tangent, when Heero slipped his head back. "Okay."  
  
"Okay?" Trowa said baffled, still holding Heero close.  
  
"Do you know where Cathy is?"  
  
"What?" Trowa pulled back, shaking his head quickly as if what he heard might change if he took a moment to think of it again. "Cathy? She's all moved into her new place."  
  
"Ah." Heero raised his eyebrows. He thought about things a moment longer, then added, "I'm taking it that you don't know about her involvement with the theater boy."  
  
"What the heck?" Trowa asked again, the electric buzz between his ears sharpening once before almost immediately fading away.   
  
Lullaby -  
Stop twisting my words tonight -  
If you get high on life -  
Don´t leave me behind.  
  
"What a queer couple." Shiori said simply as they watched Trowa follow his leather clad prince to the cleared away dance area.  
  
"You could say that." Juri smiled the slightest bit, "I have yet to decide what I think about this Japanese fellow, but he doesn't seem to hurt Trowa."  
  
"Pain isn't always visible to others." Shiori stretched, her hair which seemed quite normal in the International Velvet's lights brushing across the hood of her shirt. Changes could be so subtle that one might hardly notice.  
  
"When did you become so wise?" Juri wondered softly. Observing the way that the girl's fingers rested over the table in the shape of a crescent moon.  
  
"That's not so wise. It's just the way it is." Shiori shrugged, her fingers curling more.   
  
"I remember sharing a conversation with you, here, before." Juri said, finding that her own fingers closely mimicking the girl's. "It seems like a long, long time ago."  
  
"I hardly remember . . . the conversation."   
  
Juri wished she wasn't sitting right next to the girl, so she could see Shiori's face. She needed a sign, some confidence to move forward. "It was cold, that night." She continued, then laughed with a thought. "And we sang those horrid songs at the karaoke bar."  
  
Shiori's lips pulled back, almost dimpling her near cheek, yet she surrendered not a glance. "That was special."  
  
Juri caught her next words in surprise. Her lips open but unable to form whatever words had seemed important just a moment before. The silence lingered until Shiori broke it again.  
  
"What a mystery you were back then." Shiori laughed, then wrapped the fingers around her drink. "So seductive and no one else seemed to notice. Well, besides Ruka but he didn't stay around very long did he?"  
  
Lullaby -  
Your living my lullaby -  
Make light of all you see -  
And leave me from here...  
  
"Juri."  
  
And she felt her spirit pulled back into her body, turning at the sharp sound and seeing Trowa with the most anxious look she'd ever seen. "What?" She asked almost afraid.  
  
"Did you know about Sano and Catherine?"  
  
"What?" Juri was taken back. "Sano and Catherine? Your Catherine?"  
  
"Yes." Trowa sat down uncomfortably, as if he needed to stand up once more to try again.   
  
"I didn't, what happened?" Juri tried to think back, remembering the conversation she had had with Trowa's sister in confidence. Trying to remember if Sano had hinted at anything during their frequent trips to and from the theater.   
  
"What an idiot." Trowa said trying to recall any clues he might have missed by rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes and across his eyebrows.   
  
"Who?" Shiori asked indirectly.  
  
"Heero heard . . . thinks. Well," Trowa sighed, his cheeks seeming to sink with the relaxing surprise. "Apparently, they've had some sort of affair. Not telling anyone, except Sano seems to have shared some concerns with his sister." Trowa's lips pulled back in the impression of a grin, "At least some brothers and sisters confide in each other."  
  
"I knew that he was interested in Cathy." Juri recollected some conversation, "Why do we think they might have been more than friends?"  
  
Trowa's eyes narrowed, "And she didn't say a word to me?"  
  
"Well, that's a point." Juri leaned forward to comfortingly take one of his hands with hers. "But that doesn't mean that there's a problem. You know where Cathy is and she's fine."  
  
Trowa tried to smile, but the doubts accumulated faster than thought. "How did I miss it?" Trowa frowned in frustration, feeling Heero's cool fingers on the back of his neck. Comforting.  
  
"Tomorrow's Saturday," Juri offered, "Go see her."  
  
"Right." Trowa studied the ground, deep in thought. Everyone waiting to see what would come next. "Right." He repeated, resolved. "Juri, would you come with me? It's a ways to travel and . . ."  
  
"Sure." She nodded, deciding to explain how she'd already met Catherine later.  
  
"I think we should go." Trowa apologized, looking more comfortable as he stood and turned toward Heero. "Take me home."  
  
"How exciting." Shiori commented, as the boys left them alone at the table again.  
  
Juri frowned, "It is odd . . . still." She didn't feel any great urge to stay at the Velvet either. "Do you need a ride?"  
  
"Nope." Shiori glances through her side bag as they walked out onto the street. She held up her train ticket between two fingers. "One more late train, and I've got a permanent pass."  
  
Get back on your feet again -  
Nothing to say -  
We met in the cinema -  
You got in my way. 


	21. Fall Beside Her

Fall Beside Her  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Many things in life were meant to be together. Still if small   
variations were not made, monotony might settle in! Therefore, I've decided to   
do a little mix and matching with anime characters, Catatonia lyrics and   
establishing it all in an alternate reality. Near the end are lyrics from a song   
played during the trailer to the German film, "The Princess and the Warrior"-  
which I marked differently. I dunno who sings it, but they deserve a lot of credit   
for a pretty cool song. All I can claim really is the chaos and the idea.)  
  
Growing up, Juri had been a solitary child and an only child. Her father had   
worked for the government causing them to move every few years and it wasn't   
until he settled down to take a professorship that she began to feel any stability   
to her life. Then there had been joining the high school theater. She'd met Ruka   
when she was fifteen, and they'd become close friends. Sharing similar past   
feelings and future potential.   
  
She'd known him longer than anyone besides her parents. He was her friend, her   
brother, her lover.   
  
When she bothered to think about it, his loss was a deeper cut than would heal in   
a matter of months. Even her relationship with Spike Spiegel had been a brief   
flirtation by comparison.   
  
Agreeing to accompany Trowa Barton to visit his sister, Juri easily slipped into   
the observer's role. Speaking when she was called upon or when the flow of   
conversation made it a necessity. Watching her friend skirt around his primary   
concern as they followed Catherine Bloom on an initial tour of the new home. It   
was a spacious apartment and surprisingly enough, it was looking well lived in   
rather than a new place. It already smelled like peppermints and was decorated   
in rich autumn colors.   
  
"And I'm glad that you brought Juri with," Catherine smiled, her blue eyes   
softened to a grey silver texture as she glanced at Juri. "Did you know, Trowa,   
that we met once?"  
  
"Really?" Trowa lifted an eyebrow, the significance clearly lost on him as he   
watched his sister with more than a little anxiety. He was reassuring himself   
that she was at ease. That Cathy was happy. That she was safe.   
  
"Yes," Cathy laughed lightly, teasing. "We had quite a few things in common   
that day." Her eyes narrowed mirthfully as her words failed to sink in with   
Trowa. Catherine was aware that he was assessing her and glanced over at Juri   
again with a questioning glance. Shaking her curls with amusement, Cathy   
pulled at her three quarter sleeves, trying to make them stretch closer to her   
wrists and said, "Well, let me finish up lunch and we can chat over pasta.   
Should at least try to get one decent meal in you, skinny." She plucked at the   
bottom of Trowa's shirt, holding on to the hem.   
  
She didn't let go until they separated in the kitchen. Trowa slipping into one of   
the chairs by the dinner table. Juri sat in the seat next to him. Appreciating how   
Cathy glided around the kitchen having already made it her sanctuary as a chef.   
  
"You'd think that I'd hate cooking since I do it all the time," Cathy continued   
chatting, carrying the entire conversation effortlessly at that point. Her voice   
light, "But I can't help but enjoy cooking for company. I have this white sauce   
that has such a cool and refreshing flavor . . ."  
  
Juri smiled for the moment that Cathy glanced over her shoulder, then let her   
lips relax into a natural line as Cathy turned back to hum busily. Trowa had   
rested his chin in his hand and seemed to sink with affection and deliberation.   
Juri wondered if perhaps coming along had made things more difficult.   
  
"Here, for you. And you." Cathy put plates in front of them and began to serve   
the meal with maternal gusto. She didn't take anything herself however, which   
Juri noticed after complimenting the special sauce. It was easy for Jury to see   
why Sano could have been charmed by Trowa's sister. Catherine was   
independent and beautiful, but something in her every movement was vibrantly   
seductive. Her clothing tastefully revealing and her form modestly full with   
long, almost tomboyish limbs.   
  
"Do you like it?" Cathy leaned forward, watching Trowa solemnly chew. "I left   
it on a bit too long."  
  
"It's great, Cathy . . ." Trowa said simply, letting the phrase end hesitantly.   
Knowing that he wasn't saying a fraction of what he was thinking. Catherine   
sensed that and brought her fingers up to worry her lower lip.   
  
"Still . . ." Catherine's brow furrowed, in an expression of loving concern that   
unnervingly mirrored Trowa's own.   
  
"Cathy, I got a call from Sano yesterday."  
  
Juri put down her fork and turned to watch the siblings pulled into each other's   
perspective. Sudden understanding for Catherine as her grey-blue eyes turned a   
stormier color.   
  
". . . And he was concerned for you."  
  
"Yes." Catherine said. Not hopeful, not frustrated . . . Juri couldn't ascribe a   
feeling to it at all.  
  
"Did you?" Trowa spun his fingers through his hair as he did whenever he was   
seriously nervous.   
  
"Did I what?" Cathy's tone turned guarded, but without anger. "Trowa, it's not   
like . . . I'm committed to somebody. Right now." She leaned back at that   
moment, mask after mask beginning to erase her original expression. The   
moment of sincere regret.  
  
"I . . . know." Trowa mirrored her distance, tipping back in his chair. "I just   
wanted to make sure that you're alright."  
  
"I'm fine."   
  
Juri could feel the walls rising and wondered what, if not her own presence,   
could divide the siblings so much. Although, within a few minutes, it was   
almost as if nothing of conflict had passed between them at all.  
  
Take my word I'll try to make it clear, yeah  
You could never be like you'd been then  
Have you never tried to stay behind?  
  
"Aha, Faye." Shin glanced up to gather her attention, his reading glasses   
slipping down his nose as he turned to browse the paperwork again. Faye came   
back from where she was leaning in his office doorway, watching the other   
newspaper staff members hovering about like hectic worker bees. "I thought I'd   
heard the name Catherine Bloom before. She married Duo Maxwell back in,   
let's see, it would have been about eight years ago now."  
  
"Duo Maxwell?" Faye shrugged, "I don't remember this at all." Then Faye   
squeaked, "Eight years ago?? What the heck! Sano only would have been a   
little kid then . . . she's that much older?"  
  
Shin shrugged, still perusing the articles, "But these are more recent articles.   
See Mr. Maxwell was the heir to his father's firm, as well as being one of the   
best young lawyers to pull through the system. He's being courted to be a judge   
or to run for congress even; although, it seems that his first love is the firm.   
Hmm. They have a kid." Shin tipped the folder to one side so that Faye could   
see the publicity shot. An exuberant young man holding a toddler, a girl with   
brown curls and her fingers firmly stuffed into her mouth. At his arm was a tall   
woman with a beautiful smile.   
  
"That's her, huh?" Faye snorted, "What the heck was my brother thinking?"   
  
"She is beautiful." Shin mused, taking another look at the picture as he took the   
folder back. Faye whacked him affectionately on the back of his head.   
  
"I wonder what went wrong with their marriage? That seems such a fairy tale   
life." Faye said after a solemn pause.  
  
One touch, and they all fall beside her, yeah  
It's said that you're the kind to run and hide, yeah  
Is it better then to leave it all inside?  
  
Juri reclined in the love seat as she watched Trowa and Catherine on the couch.   
A few hours after lunch they all had begun to feel warm and sleepy. The   
reconciliation simple enough as Trowa sat at one end of the couch, his sister   
resting against his shoulder. Hearing the truth and confirming her security was   
enough for Trowa to let the subject rest. Whatever happened next would be up   
to his sister.   
  
And they had begun to share pieces of their childhood. Of how Catherine's   
mother had actually worked at the circus, and that Catherine was never truly   
certain who her real father was. Hoping against hope that it wasn't the Monkey   
Man as her mother had teased. And how Trowa's mother had passed away after   
a sudden complication to her diabetes.   
  
"Dad was a doctor, and it really made him doubt his abilities." Trowa clarified,   
"He said that Cathy's mom was the enthusiasm he needed to realize how   
valuable life still was."  
  
"So valuable that they're both living in Australia right now." Cathy chuckled.   
"They're living this second youth the post cards say."  
  
"What's it like having them so far away?" Juri asked politely. The only family   
the two of them had nearby really was each other.  
  
"They still keep some tabs on us." Trowa said, "But I don't think I've seen them   
since . . . well, since I was in college and did a show on the Aussie stage."  
  
"And Trowa filled them in on everything. Let me tell you, the string of bad   
childhood boyfriends Trowa kept pointing out that I had, Juri, was *nothing*   
compared to watching my brother pine after Heero Yuy . . ."   
  
"Speaking of Heero . . ." Trowa said quickly but didn't get another word out as   
Cathy elbowed him in the stomach.  
  
"I'm not the only one who keeps secrets." She murmured. "I heard. And just   
when we thought he'd gone."  
  
Trowa laughed reluctantly, "You knew he was back in town. And, well, it's not   
really a secret to be kept anymore."  
  
Catherine sat upright, "I remember, something like this 'Guess what, Cath!   
Heero's back. I think we might start seeing each other again.' and now . . . you   
have."  
  
"Yeah," Trowa tucked his chin, sinking into the cushions of the couch. "I think   
it might actually work out this time."  
  
"You two can't stay just friends." She sighed, taking his hand and intertwining   
their fingers. Staring into her lap. "Keep an eye on him for me, Juri. Don't let   
him get hurt."  
  
Juri watched Trowa place an affectionate kiss into his sister's hair and missed   
the rest of that conversation as she began to wonder. Began to wonder if   
Catherine could be just as possessive of her brother as Heero was.   
  
Slow down, you're racing fast for now  
You'd shine with half your given power  
You see my hands I've been caught at it again, yeah  
  
"You're doing a great job, Utena, keep it up." Faye said quickly, breezing past   
the stage manager turned fencing master.  
  
"You too, Faye." Utena grinned back, watching Faye try to juggle all the jobs   
and responsibilities that Utena had learned to handle with ease.  
  
Jobs that Faye found a quite simple trouble compared to watching her brother   
act as if nothing had changed in his life at all. She'd found him before rehearsal   
began that Monday and tried to mention the few things that she and Shin had   
found at the paper. The thick quarrel surrounding a messy divorce that took too   
long to settle all because Duo Maxwell loved Catherine Bloom too much to let   
her go. Sano needed to know that letting this woman go would be best for him   
as well.  
  
Except, he suddenly seemed not to care.  
  
"I'm fine," Sano shrugged, "I shouldn't have been so surprised. A bit of over   
*acting* on my part." He chuckled strangely at his own joke and left his sister   
to chat with Kenshin about the opening number. She had watched him, leaving   
him in the care of the red-haired writer and wondering if it was for the best to let   
him believe that he could simply move forward. But she knew her brother well   
enough to understand that he'd let himself become over invested in relationships.   
It was something Sanosuke would have to work through on his own then.  
  
Bulldozing through the hallway more times that she'd like to count, and mostly   
because of her own forgetfulness—Faye caught glimpses of her brother and   
Kenshin continuing in a engrossed conversation. She wished Kenshin luck.  
  
It was while she was peering in on her younger sibling again when she ran right   
into Shiori.   
  
"Oh! I'm sorry." Faye said, over apologizing. Mostly because she'd managed   
to scratch the other girl with the edge of one of the many rapiers she was hauling   
back to have unbent and polished from rehearsal use. "I didn't even see you   
coming out of there."  
  
"It's okay." Shiori shrugged, analyzing the damage and dismissing it.   
  
"I'm, ah, still getting used to your hair." Faye said, realizing that she hadn't   
spoken at length with Shiori for some time. "I know that Saionji wasn't too keen   
on dyeing his, except that his fan club things it's all cute and darling now.   
What'd you think?"  
  
"It's part of the character." Shiori said simply, a bit distracted.  
  
"Are you alright?" Faye wondered, studying the girl's absent-minded   
expression.  
  
"Yeah," Shiori blinked a few times, "I haven't been sleeping much . . .   
rehearsing."  
  
"Rehearsing?" Faye started, "More than you are here? Why?"  
  
"Just rehearsing." Shiori said distantly.  
  
Before Faye could probe further, Nichol appeared from the same doorway.   
Glancing at Faye he smiled with his characteristic aristocracy and said, "Well,   
this makes things easy. Faye, Saitou was asking for the foils if you want to   
toddle off to him. And Shiori, I was meaning to ask you something. Excuse   
us."  
  
Faye missed most of what he said, growling, "I haven't even gotten started on   
these yet!" And promptly sprinted down the hall.  
  
Another finger serves to single out the blame  
Have you never tried to stay behind?  
One touch and they all fall beside her, yeah  
  
"Thanks for the ride, Sano." Juri said, stepping out from the car.  
  
"No problem." The boy smiled back, preparing to park in the lot before going to   
his own building.   
  
She watched him drive down a ways before turning to unlock her apartment   
door. The rooster head had seemed content enough, not seeming to suffer any   
outward effects from his brief rendezvous with Trowa's sister. But he'd hidden   
things so well before, she couldn't be sure.  
  
And for some reason she wasn't terribly surprised to have a message on her   
answering machine either, "Hello, Juri. This is Catherine Bloom. I was   
wondering if I could talk with you again. Not at the Velvet, I don't want to run   
into Trowa. Maybe someplace else? I often went to this place called the   
Karaoke Queen if you're interested."  
  
And she still wasn't very surprised as she stepped into the warm pulsing   
vibrations of the Karaoke Queen. Something inevitable always happened at that   
club, and she felt oddly detached even as she used her physical senses to scan   
the dancers up to the tables where she saw Cathy give a slight wave.  
  
"I've only been here once before." Juri said, sending the waitress away for her   
drink.   
  
"I came here quite a bit during the divorce." Catherine admitted, "But I   
associate it with the escape. Not the pain."  
  
Juri pursed her lips, a bit intrigued. "Escape, that's a good way to put it." Also   
not surprised that the conversation skipped the formalities for the heart of the   
conversation.   
  
"But I could never sing." Laugher causing Catherine's red-brown curls to quiver   
around her ears, cheeks and chin. "Escape can only go so far, it can't give you   
abilities you never had."  
  
Juri watched off the balcony of tables to the sea of movement. The karaoke   
stage empty, waiting for something, for someone, to come to it. It felt like a   
lifetime ago that she'd stood on that stage.   
  
"Come back." Catherine said, with a curious lift to her tone. "Where did you   
go?"  
  
"Just thinking," Juri took a deep breath, and just then accepted her drink eagerly.   
"Perceptive aren't you?" She added after taking a moment to get used to how   
frankly the silver-blue eyes studied her movements.  
  
"I think it's the alcohol talking for me. I came early to get a table and didn't   
wait." She leaned over to watch the dancers. No one in particular standing out   
from the others. "It's easy for them to get lost while they're drinking. Which is   
why I try it, but instead . . . I seem to gain moments of insane clarity. I take it   
you like to get lost in your drinks?"  
  
"I only drink in moderation," Juri commented, "It's too easy to get intoxicated in   
other things to complicate it all."  
  
"Complications. Yes," the smile left Catherine's cheeks, "I-I feel odd admitting   
this, but I have to tell someone. And you were so kind before." Catherine   
paused, fixing Juri's attention on her words, "I truly, truly feel nothing. Nothing   
for Sano. Nothing for Duo. Nothing for Helen."   
  
"And Trowa?" Juri inquired.   
  
"With Trowa," Catherine leaned her head to one side, stretching out her neck.   
Then the other direction, as she thought. "Well. It doesn't matter what I feel for   
Trowa, does it? He can only give me so much, he's my brother after all."  
  
"I suppose that even things with Trowa are rather different when Heero's   
around." Juri observed, sensing as her fingers left prints on the glass. .  
  
"There's that too." Catherine nodded, brushing at the front of her crimson   
blouse where it gathered at the first button scattering sparkles that had fallen   
from the decorations above. They were falling everywhere, into her hair, her   
drink. "It wasn't always like this, really. Heero and I got along well enough   
years ago. I suppose we still might, but I haven't seen him since they've become   
involved romantically. Sure, I always knew that Trowa had this thing for Heero,   
but it seemed like a phase, y'know? Or I wouldn't have encouraged it in the   
slightest." Trowa's sister examined her glass and drank from it anyway, "But   
look at them, both horribly imperfect and somehow they keep getting pulled   
back together. And they struggle through it."  
  
Juri raised her eyebrows, equally mystified, "I'm not one to really give advice on   
how to make a relationship work."  
  
Catherine paused, then exclaimed, "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize that talking   
about this might hurt you in someway . . ."  
  
"No." Juri smiled sympathetically, "You're not troubling me. I just don't know   
how reassuring or comforting that I can be. My first suggestions might be to   
expect pain and dissatisfaction. The only question that remains is should we go   
back to the old relationship or move forward?"  
  
"I don't know the answer to that. I've tried both."  
  
"Me too."  
  
They chuckled in mutual dismay.   
  
"I used to talk to Trowa like this," Juri commented, "Before he was focused in   
on Mr. Yuy, and never suspected all that he had done and felt. I suppose I'm not   
even beginning to understand your situation either, but if you're searching for   
honesty in your own life, Catherine-then you'll find better contentment with   
others. That's what I'm striving for anyway . . ."  
  
"Honesty?" Catherine said quietly. "Honestly, then--I love Helen. And, damn   
it, I love Duo. And Sano. And Trowa most of all. It's quite simply that I'm   
terrified of damaging them."  
  
"Hmm." Juri nodded, swirling the remains of her drink around the bottom of the   
glass. "What you need is someone strong and devoted. Sano couldn't do that?"  
  
"He's so young, Juri." Catherine said, perplexed.   
  
"And it didn't work with Duo?"  
  
"We were falling apart at the seams and Helen didn't help matters. So many   
things, the pressure to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother and then the   
reversed expectation to be none of those things. It was all about what I couldn't   
do."  
  
"And Trowa?"  
  
Catherine frowned, "Trowa will always be my brother. I only want what's best   
for him."  
  
"Alright," Juri stopped surveying the crowd, and turned back to Catherine,   
watching the sparkles scattered on her face, highlighting her hair in the   
reflecting pulse of the dance lights. "I think it's time for you to move forward   
without looking back."   
  
After a blank look, Catherine suddenly eased into a dazzling smile. One of   
relief. "I need to do that. I need to hear it's okay."  
  
"Well, then," Juri waved at the floor, "Want to dance?" She invited, standing   
and giving a bit of a bow. "I'm not exactly a prince, but I won't ask you to sing."  
  
"Alright," Catherine smiled wryly and accepted Juri's hand.   
  
The song began and the woman on the stage sang in a sorrowful voice to the fast   
pace of the music. Her performance not distracting from those who wanted to   
continue their dance. Keeping swift with an old step, or experimenting with one   
new.   
  
*I walk in the sunlight  
*Your shadow resists  
*My shame wants to follow  
*And tries to kiss  
*If I am your princess  
*Then where is my crown?  
*I should feel protected  
*But I still feel alone  
*I won't give you anger  
*I won't give you fear  
*I'll just think of some where  
*Different from here  
*Why don't you fly with me?  
*Fly with me  
  
Breathless, Juri reluctantly followed Catherine toward their table. She hadn't   
been so free to relax in some time, enjoying each other's company and accepting   
everything without creating any new apprehensions. She wanted Catherine to   
know as much, "I-That was so much fun." Juri said, watching Catherine bend   
over to pick up her things and gracefully finishing off what remained of her last   
drink.   
  
Catherine didn't say anything for a minute, just watching Juri with a content   
expression. "I'm happy too, that was thrilling."  
  
"If it wasn't a Monday, I'd stay longer." Juri apologized, "I need to be somewhat   
alert for tomorrow's rehearsal. But I'd like to come back here. Practice that   
moving forward thing again."  
  
"Yeah," Catherine agreed, as they walked down the stairs, stretching her limbs   
to put her leather bike jacket on. "And I'll let you do a little talking yourself . . .   
thank you. For everything. You don't happen to like to ride do you?" She   
asked, pointing at the Harley design.  
  
"I might, I haven't . . ." Juri said, "I'd like to." She settled at that and found   
herself constantly smiling, "If I hadn't borrowed a car, I'd have you give me a   
ride home tonight."  
  
"Next time, then. Should we try a Friday night?" Catherine suggested, putting   
on her gloves after tying her hair back. They were hovering just outside the   
Karaoke Queen's front doors. The chill evening cooling their overheated skin.   
The front light brilliantly still after the dancing lights. But Juri hadn't heard her.   
"Juri?"  
  
Slipping past, and hardly giving them a glance, was Shiori. Deeply in a   
conversation with another woman as they opened the doors to the bar. Catching   
up to them at just that moment was Nichol. He pulled the door from their hands   
and held it open as he half bowed, allowing them to enter first.  
  
"Juri?" Catherine noticed her companion's distraction and looked beyond to the   
now empty doorway.  
  
"Friday?" Juri half-repeated, her spirit sinking again. Sinking the way it had   
when she had noticed Shiori with Nichol before. And when Dorothy had   
pointed out the rules of the game. And now.   
  
"Friday, yes. I was asking if you wanted to do this again on Friday?" Catherine   
spoke quickly without thinking, "You know, I'd say something bad just   
happened. Maybe you shouldn't be driving home like this, huh? What if you   
come with me and I take you home? Or call Trowa's place, he does live closer?   
Juri, love? What's the matter?"  
  
And if Juri were to be honest. She still couldn't quite say what.  
  
*Don't fly  
*Don't you fly 


	22. The Actor

The Actor  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I wrote this while listening to Alithea's music and completely   
wired up on chocolate covered Espresso Beans-a college addiction that came   
back to haunt me. They were a dollar off and I'd already convinced myself to   
buy them any way. It had to have been Providence. *chuckle* Still, no matter   
how directed I feel my life might have been at that moment-I can't deny that   
these characters are not mine. I'm just borrowing them from the dusty shelves   
where their creators sort of let them wallow. The lyrics are part of Catatonia's   
ever inspiring collection. I owe that band a huge thank you for inspiring so   
much art on my half. Now the reality of this story is completely mine-in other   
words, you can blame me for the setting and the plot. That is my fault!)  
  
  
Undeniably, something scary lurks about when one sits in the dark for long   
enough. The thoughts become more shadowed. The daylight seems more like   
shadows peeking around the normalcy of the pulled curtains.   
  
Whatever she was smoking was already replacing the oxygen in her lungs.   
Finally filling herself with something. When emptiness had been so much a part   
of before.   
  
Funny, she'd only smoked once before. And it had made her feel so sick. But   
she'd already betrayed whatever had been innocent enough to feel the disgust.   
The pathetic feeling that whatever had been worthwhile before was long   
forgotten. And when it returned in the hours before she finally would fall   
asleep, exhausted-it resurfaced as a bitter memory.  
  
And she hated that. Hated losing the ability to sleep.  
  
So she took one more long pull on the stinking thing that she'd bought at the   
club. Feeling dizzy enough to collapse on the bed, fully dressed. Staring at the   
wall. Wondering why the lights, the visions that were beginning to form inches   
in front of her face were intangible. A kaleidoscope of blues and greens that   
almost seemed like someone was watching her.   
  
Shiori floundered. When her alarm went off, she couldn't remember if she had   
ever closed her eyes.  
  
Your imagination runs wild  
Sitting on the fence   
you call your home these days  
  
"Can I go faster? Y'know, it is forty-five through here." Catherine shouted over   
her shoulder. Rather impressed that she had the ability to draw in enough breath   
to do that Juri was holding so tight.   
  
Juri nodded, hoping that Catherine could feel the consent. She wasn't so much   
afraid of being on the bike as she was riding with Catherine in control. Trowa's   
sister had started their ride by gunning her way through a yellow light and all the   
discomfort Juri had felt putting on the helmet had instantly evaporated. The   
helmet suddenly became her security blanket.  
  
With a maniac laugh, Catherine leaned forward, Juri's hands slipping back on   
the leather jacket to hold more loosely at Catherine's waist as she leaned against   
the backrest. Watching as Catherine's short curls whispered just under her own   
helmet. Looking around to enjoy the passing scenery. After rehearsal that   
Friday, Catherine had agreed to meet her at Juri's apartment and take a quick   
ride before going out for dinner or something yet unplanned.   
  
It had been a long week of rather extensive rehearsals and even the danger of the   
open bike was a release of sorts.   
  
When they'd managed to escape the city, Cathy turned onto a country road that   
took them to a hillside overlooking the harvested fields. The distant woodland   
was washed with red, brown and gold over the remaining green. Taming her   
Harley, and letting it purr a moment, Catherine set her feet down and turned off   
the engine.   
  
"Wow." She said, content. "We don't have anywhere else to go for a while, do   
we?" Catherine asked herself and whatever else wanted to listen. She got off   
one side of the bike, as Juri regained her footing on the other. Walking down   
the hill a ways, Catherine sprawled on the grass-tossing her helmet to one side.   
"I'm so buzzed."  
  
"I can still feel the Harley." Juri said, "Or else I'm hyper sensitive to the earth   
rotating now."  
  
"When I was a kid, I used to swear that I made the world move round each time   
I took a step." Catherine adjusted so that her arms were crossed behind head-the   
overgrowing grass folding around her. Juri curled up her knees against the   
almost chilly breeze as the sun was lowering in the sky. "A bit self-centered I   
guess. And I haven't grown out of it either." Catherine said with mild remorse.   
"I've wanted to ask you-and I feel like such an coward, really. But how is   
Sano?"  
  
Juri answered simply, "He keeps coming to rehearsal, and he's doing well   
enough with that. Our playwright, Kenshin, seems to be watching over him. It's   
a new bond-but it seems to be helpful for Sano."  
  
"I-I just can't seem to find the things to say to him." Catherine sighed, closing   
her eyes from the rose colored clouds. The rich purple sky.   
  
"It might be best to stay apart." Juri said.   
  
"He really cared for me. I know that. Still." Catherine let her words taper off,   
then she sneezed. Full and strong enough that she sat up again. Putting her   
arms behind her as a brace, the jacket starting to side of her bare shoulders.   
  
"Still." Juri repeated, as a complete thought.   
  
Better take care, you don't ask for help  
But some day you might need it  
  
"Dumb ass," Sano slurred the obscenity over the top of his beer, "You'll sooo   
regret it if ya don't let us throw a bachelor party for ya . . ." He leaned back in   
his chair, his head somehow dangling to one side. Just enough alert to keep his   
eyes on Spike's annoyed expression.  
  
"How many was that?" Spike asked riling Sano enough that lifted his head for a   
few seconds.  
  
"I believe our young friend has had plenty, that he has." Kenshin shooed the   
waitress around the back of Sano's chair before the boy could wave his empty   
glass. Which had earned the woman serving them a number of large tips. "I   
don't know if he'll appreciate having spent all of his cash here, tonight."  
  
"We can find some girls and . . . " Sano fell forward mid-sentence, catching   
himself on his forearms against the table.  
  
"Oh, Sano," Kenshin said, amused, "I don't think Mrs. Kaoru would appreciate   
that, that I don't."  
  
"Nor Julia," Spike murmured, crossing his arms and glancing around the   
International Velvet. They'd stopped by after rehearsal and spent most of the   
evening talking about the wedding. Which was beginning to wear on him, even   
though it was a little different hearing it from guys. Rather than Julia.   
Constantly. But most of the fun had evaporated once Sano had started to fade   
from tipsiness into serious lack of motor skills. And Kenshin had spent most of   
his time blissfully reliving his own wedding. Which Spike was beginning to   
suspect Kenshin might have enjoyed as much, if not more so than his wife.   
  
"Women," Sano mumbled from where he'd rested his forehead against the table.   
Talking into the dark wood finish. "If I could only be so lucky."  
  
"You just haven't found the right woman yet, Sano." Spike said, "Too many   
dames in the world to settle for anything less. Look at Kenshin, if not me. It's   
worth finding someone you can actually spend more than a few hours with.   
Someone that makes you feel like you couldn't live without them. Let me tell   
you . . . otherwise . . . it's not . . . "  
  
"Eh," Kenshin began to wave his hands frantically, a signal that Spike   
obviously didn't understand. "Maybe we should talk about something else." But   
a loud, broken rasp from the table startled them both. "Oh dear." Kenshin   
patted the boy's near shoulder. "Sano, I should take you home now, that I   
should. Kaoru will worry about us."  
  
Kenshin pulled Sano's coat from the back of the chair and hung it over his   
shoulders, giving him a moment to collect himself enough to stand. Spike   
glanced between them furiously concerned, but Kenshin shook his head.  
  
"It's the alcohol, Spike." Kenshin tried to smile reassuringly, "Right, Sano?   
Spike'll want a bachelor party just you wait and see. We'll plan all the horrible   
pranks while I take you home, that we shall."  
  
"I can't wait." Spike pulled on his own coat, and walked a few steps behind   
Kenshin who was more than just supporting Sano out of the Velvet.  
  
And all the while   
the leaves turn brown  
Fall off the trees   
and are blown around  
Your feet   
  
Heero pulled down the newspaper enough that he could examine the plate that   
Trowa had set in front of him. "Thanks." He murmured, taking a few more   
seconds to read through the scores and stats.   
  
"Anything interesting?" Trowa asked, standing nearby and nursing his coffee.   
He'd thought he was an early Saturday morning riser until they'd started to spend   
weekends together. Heero would grow impatient for the six o'clock paper.   
  
"Hn." Heero said, noncommittal, chewing absently on the toast. Stealing   
glances as Trowa worked around the kitchen. Setting down the coffee and   
putting things away. Always cleaning up other's messes. "I could of done that."   
Heero said quietly.  
  
"I don't mind." The smile was dazzlingly sincere. Heero could remember when   
Trowa always fell just shy of that expression, always flickering hesitantly.   
Whatever ignited that look always left him feeling overly warm.  
  
"How the hell did I ever deserve that?" Heero said bluntly. "You're too much."  
  
Trowa gave a light laugh, "I don't think love's ever about what one deserves,   
Heero." Finished, and using the coffee again. "Besides, I like you right there   
every morning. Scowling at the paper and guzzling orange juice."   
  
Heero didn't know what to say to that. "What happens when you don't like me   
drinking your orange juice?"  
  
"I can hardly imagine that happening." Trowa looked thoughtful, watching the   
floor. "But if it does happen, it's something that we'll have to work through.   
Would we do that?"  
  
"It'd be the least I could do." Heero grumbled. Realizing he must have said the   
right thing as he felt suddenly warm.  
  
there's no good pushing them away  
They'll always come back,   
just like the fears in your head  
  
"What's the matter, love?" Catherine lowered her arms, feeling loose and   
comfortable in the familiar setting of the Karaoke Queen dance floor with Juri   
nearby. But something felt disconnected as Juri's every movement seemed   
beautifully distracted. Unaware of the men and women trying to gain her   
attention. "Maybe it's time for me to take a sit-down." Catherine suggested   
indirectly, leading away. She at least was appreciating the looks she'd been   
getting. Others were sensing her comfortableness, but not invading her space as   
much as reveling in it.   
  
She was so comfortable in fact, that she was too warm in her over shirt and   
pulled it off in favor of the brightly colored tank top underneath.   
  
"Layers are a good idea here." Catherine chatted to fill the emptiness, as she and   
Juri climbed back to their table. Cathy waving pointedly at her now empty glass   
when the server glanced over with a raised brow. "Just put 'em back on before   
you go outside. It's nice to have a place where you can dress down. Let go of a   
few outside problems." She flavored the last word, trying to reach an   
understanding with her companion. Juri was such a wonderful counselor, but   
the reciprocation left Catherine wondering.  
  
In a moment's quickness, Juri found her own shoulders loosing some of the   
tension she'd stored. It didn't hurt to have a beautiful woman expressing such   
concern over her, it was just a feeling she hadn't discovered very often. "I was   
thinking too much." Juri shook her head slightly, "When I first came here it was   
with someone I thought was . . . possibly special . . . for me. I think I missed my   
chance that first time."  
  
"Aha," Catherine rested her head over her bent wrists, "You do have a tragic   
memory haunting you."  
  
"She was forward and open," Juri smiled wistfully, "And I wasn't ready. I   
wasn't free."  
  
Catherine waited patiently, deliberating over her beverage. Tasting it, and   
watching gently for Juri's story to continue. Realizing that it was possible Juri   
hadn't been this open before.   
  
Juri surrendered her gaze to the door as it opened, her eyes widening a bit. First   
surprised, then relieved. "Well, look who's stopping by."  
  
The moment lost, Catherine stood eagerly, waving like a maniac over the   
railing. "Hey, Trowa! Over here."  
  
"Nice do." Trowa almost smirked, catching with the side of his hand one of the   
curls that had fell free from where Catherine had clipped them up.  
  
"I like it, and you guys don't look so bad yourself." She recognized the proud   
glow Trowa radiated over the full emerald green of his shirt and immediately   
attributed it to the forever black and leather man standing awkwardly just   
behind. "Heero, I'd heard you were back around. Isn't that the necklace I gave   
you?"  
  
"Yeah," Heero reached automatically for the silver padlock, which hung from   
the chain of links. It was one of many shimmering pieces on his person. "It's   
good to see you, Cathy."  
  
"Yeah, right," Catherine teased, pausing as they took their seats, Trowa next to   
her and Heero sitting just across the round table.   
  
"We wanted a different scene, and remembered you had mentioned this place."   
Trowa looked around. "No one's singing?"  
  
"It's early for that still," Juri commented, leaning back in her chair, relaxing   
with her drink cupped to her lips. "Not that we can ever persuade, Ms. Bloom to   
sing."  
  
Catherine scowled playfully, "I have other talents."  
  
Heero's lips twitched, "Funny, I can think of more things you can't do . . ." His   
tone adopting a surprising a new touch of affectionate sarcasm.  
  
"Yuy, I'd like to see you drag your butt up there." Catherine said, testing the   
waters. Trying not to smile, as much as she found to disapprove about Heero,   
she had missed their almost sibling like banter.  
  
"I'll volunteer to do any of the groping with Heero tonight," Trowa lifting his   
arms so that there was room for his glass.   
  
"We have a singer." Heero nodded toward the stage, which he could see best as   
he was facing the floor. After a casual glance, Catherine turned back to see him   
shrug, "Guess that means I'm off the hook."  
  
"Think again, my boy." Catherine smirked, "The night is young."  
  
Life, ain't what like it used to be  
Life, ain't what like it used to be  
  
"New memories." Catherine mused, "It must all be about new memories." She   
was sitting sideways in her seat, after watching her brother and Heero relax to   
sway between the dancers into a slower song. Trowa and Juri'd managed a   
fairly decent rendition of "Love Shack" amidst the jovial laughter of the entire   
establishment a while before. After which, Juri had once again fallen back to   
the table and Heero had reclaimed Trowa's person greedily.   
  
"New memories are priceless," Juri agreed. But the Catherine felt that the   
feelings that had been hinted at before were simply lingering in the deeper   
corners of Juri's heart.   
  
"Sweetie, you carry guilt almost as heavily as I do." Catherine whispered. "I   
thought all this was about moving forward."  
  
Juri knew better than to resist Catherine's abundant offers, but images continued   
to gnaw her consciousness. She understood as Catherine pulled on her netting   
and over shirt that it was the appropriate time to leave. The boys were obviously   
fine as long as they were together.  
  
The sister moon greeted them as they stepped out into the evening.  
  
"I wish I were more of a poet, like Trowa." Catherine confessed, as she let Juri   
open the passenger door for her but resisted getting in. "There's something   
about the night that I feel akin to."  
  
"It's welcoming and frightening." Juri said, seemingly understanding.  
  
"Ha." Catherine balanced between the car and the open door. "Trowa *and*   
you, my dear. There's just something about you both that seems to sew me back   
together. For that I thank you." Catherine closed the distance and chastely   
kissed Juri. Barely touching, near the corner of her lips.   
  
"And why I can't ever seem to make things easier for you?"  
  
So sit on your hands, rattle on your tongue  
It's a shaking head and sit back on your chair  
No good wishing it away, but move it all on  
Right back to haunt you  
  
"I think they've gone." Trowa examined the table, a bit baffled by the obvious.   
  
"We were rather preoccupied," Heero said simply, fingers filling his pockets   
and looking side to side as if on watch. Uncertain what he was watching for.   
Especially since everything he needed always seemed to be wherever Trowa   
was.   
  
And it had been nice to see Juri again. And Catherine.   
  
"You're sister is just a cute as ever." Heero said the word cute only in   
connection with Catherine. Before he'd realized the preference he held between   
the siblings, he had his share of fun times with Catherine. Including the lock he   
still wore upon occasion. The lock she'd declared in high school was meant to   
bond him to their family forever. Whatever charms she'd intended seriously or   
not so seriously had certainly worked their magic over him. It was those   
friendships that he felt irreversibly tied to when he had no other family of his   
own.  
  
"Are you going to take that table or not, Barton?"  
  
Heero recognized the voice before he turned back the direction he wasn't   
looking to see a frowning Nichol looming toward them. Heero felt a backward   
debt to Nichol for betraying the depth of the emotion that seemed to tie Trowa   
and himself together. At the same time, he wasn't amused with the unbridled   
disgust that was always being directed toward his lover. No matter how easily   
Trowa shrugged it off.  
  
"You again, Nichol?" Heero growled in his most normal way, "As often as I see   
you, I'd swear you were following my boyfriend."  
  
"Please," Nichol's nose crinkled, "I've never seen you hear before. Why would I   
expect you to be here tonight?"  
  
"We're just leaving, don't worry." Trowa said lightly, still amazing Heero with   
his easy manner.  
  
"I wasn't going to worry about it." Scoffed Nichol, before he could say more. A   
perplexed voice interrupted.  
  
"Find a table yet?"   
  
Her arm raised, her finger tracing, almost caressing his opposite ear. Shiori   
blinked in a rather dazed manner at the other two, almost as if she couldn't place   
them for that moment. "What are you doing here?" She asked.  
  
Heero answered, when Trowa seemed unable to, "We've already done this and   
we're moving on. Take the table." Reaching for the taller man's near arm,   
Heero lightly led Trowa toward the stairs.  
  
"What the heck?" Trowa muttered when he found a moment to collect those   
words.  
  
Heero felt it was his turn to point out the obvious, "Wasn't that Juri's friend?"  
  
"Yeah," Trowa said thoughtfully, "I thought I'd talked to Dorothy about this?   
Damn, no wonder Juri's been closed up."  
  
Heero didn't find it too difficult to distract Trowa's concerns for the time being.   
But he couldn't help but acknowledge that Nichol didn't take lovers or protégées.   
He played the game, and in that game you were either an equal or a plaything.   
Shiori had to be taking on that challenge. Trying to earn her place. Building her   
worth in the game.   
  
And when he was with Trowa, held by him, Heero understood quite well that   
real love wasn't something that you deserved.   
  
And all the while the leaves turn brown  
Fall off the trees and are blown around  
Your feet   
there's no good pushing them away  
They'll always come back,   
come right back to haunt you  
  
A bit dazed by the sunlight still, Dorothy adjusted to the still dark of the poorly   
lit Road Rage foyer. She'd been enjoying her solitude, but the call of the theater   
drew her back for the beginning of the new week. Feeling refreshed and ready   
to begin again.  
  
In the moments before she saw him too clearly, she almost suspected that Trowa   
had managed to come to rehearsal early for once. But his shoulders never   
seemed to fall into the friendly, submissive slouch. He stood rigid and   
expectant. Although, familiarly at home.  
  
"You seem to belong here," Dorothy stepped in just a bit further before   
stopping. Taking off her gloves with deliberation. "And yet, I haven't had the   
pleasure. I'm Dorothy Catalonia."  
  
"I'm sure the pleasure is mine," The stranger smiled with welcome, "I have been   
away for some time, but this theater was my home for a great many years. I take   
it you've come from the Glass House. I do believe I saw one of your shows . . .   
'Part of the Furniture' it was called."  
  
Dorothy laughed lyrically with the memory, "A fine show, when the House had   
a director with vision."  
  
"The Lady, yes," The stranger nodded, his hair falling forward in waves making   
him rule it back again. "And I hear this show is coming along well."  
  
"Indeed," Dorothy said, feeling her prestige coming into the foreground to meet   
the elegant sophistication the man offered her. She hadn't met someone with   
such class and gentility in some time. "Although, we're half way through   
rehearsing at this point."  
  
The man's expression adopted an almost distant affection while he held his own   
thoughts in check beyond Dorothy's perception. He seemed as if someone who   
had reached a point where he would only put his most noble intentions forward.   
It fascinated her incredibly.  
  
"Who might you be?" Dorothy asked of him, one of the few moments of   
vulnerable she allowed.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Miss Catalonia," He returned from the absent thoughts and smiled   
with friendly warmness, "I'm Ruka Tsuchiya."  
  
Life, ain't what like it used to be  
Life, ain't what like it used to be  
Life, ain't what like it used to be  
Life, ain't what like it used to be 


	23. Departure

Departure  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: I would say the end is near; however, originally, this was supposed   
to be a one-chapter stand-alone fic. It would seem I'm the least reliable source   
of information regarding any potential ending. No, this is not the last chapter.   
Continuing the mix of characters whisked away into an alternate reality where   
they are all somehow irreversibly bonded to the Road Rage Theater.   
Somewhere, in the background, Catatonia whispers the accompanying lyrics.   
And words from Part of Me and Bachelorette.)  
  
"Thanks for the ride."  
  
"I'll be back to pick you up later, then."  
  
Heero waited, watching the rain wash down the side window almost as if the   
glass itself was melting and sliding away. "Are you getting out of the car?" He   
growled affectionately reaching over to tangle his fingers in the back of Trowa's   
hair. "As much as I'd just like to take you back home and waste a day like this   
with you, I do have work to do. The Glass House production is nearly ready for   
show."  
  
"I," Trowa smiled sheepishly, "I just have this funny feeling. With the weather   
being so beautiful for a moment there and then the sudden storm."  
  
"Artists." Heero tapped Trowa dismissively, giving him the motivation to reach   
for the door handle. Almost pushing the door open before Heero changed his   
mind and gripped Trowa's shoulder. "Listen, if you need me . . . just call.   
Okay?"  
  
"Right." Trowa tried smiling again, shaking his head. "Don't worry."  
  
Heero watched as Trowa darted toward the front door of the Road Rage with   
long steps, crouching against the falling wet. Pausing just under the over hang   
and pulling open the glass door. Then he was gone.   
  
Just as he began to pull away, Heero heard the passenger door pull open.  
  
"Wait."   
  
Glancing over, his eyebrow lifted seeing the seat immediately filled by a very   
pissed Juri Arisugawa. She challenged him with a steeled glance, "I don't care   
where you're going, just get us there."  
  
"Okay." He shrugged.   
  
***  
  
"Hi Juri," But she was gone. Trowa kept walking forward, a bit reluctant at the   
sizable gathering just past the foyer doors. The most approachable individual   
was Nichol, who leaned in the doorway. "What's going on?"  
  
Nichol didn't glance over, "Some old friend." He snickered, "Pretty funny   
actually. You missed the initial pile up of hugs and back slapping."  
  
The center of the mass was a friendly enough looking fellow with an easy smile   
on his handsome features. His eyes thin slits, seemingly happy, but interestingly   
distant. The conversation was a chaotic volley from which they could pick   
pieces.  
  
"Well, I am best man after all . . ." In an almost haughty humor and a laugh   
quickly picked up by the others.   
  
"You didn't ever tell us you were coming back so soon." Spike's voice pointed.   
He was balanced on the corner of one of the auditorium rows. Julia just in front   
of him a little to the side. Her arms gently folded, one finger tapping anxiously.  
  
"You've got pictures of those indy film actresses right man?" Sano. Thumping   
the stranger heartily.  
  
"Too bad you didn't come back in time for auditions, Ruka." Saitou. Back in   
the shadows outside the inner group. His fingers raised with an invisible   
cigarette.   
  
"Sure, I want to see the show." The familiar name, Ruka. Trowa remembered it   
in passing. He was a name that associated with Juri somewhat. Why wasn't she   
here? "But I thought I'd stop by a rehearsal and catch you all before the rush."  
  
"Well, you're too late." Faye said accusingly, "Shin and I already eloped."   
Heads turned until she retracted with a hearty, "Enough, I'm kidding!"  
  
"You'll all have to fill me in . . ."  
  
"Later."  
  
And Saitou's word was firmer than iron.   
  
He wishes he was dead   
draws the sheet across his head   
  
Ruka felt the pressure against his chest as soon as the crowd had formed. His   
eyes had instinctively sought her out. He wanted to see her again. Know that   
she was still waiting. Still there. Flawless. Fatally beautiful.   
  
Then, like a broken record, Shiori had been at his side. With coy glances and a   
particularly new sparkle to her eyes. Making him doubt that she'd diminished   
her fire while he had been gone, but something about her seemed less vibrant as   
well. As if she was wasting away and her eyes were the only part of her   
desperately hanging on to life. And there was her hair. Perfect for her   
character, a futile attempt on her part to appear anything but ordinary.   
Exceptionally ordinary by contrast, her freckles all too earnestly scattered for   
such extravagant expression.  
  
Where was Juri?  
  
Invited to stay, Ruka felt himself finally relax into the worn cushion of the chair   
he'd selected half-way to the front directly in the most middle seat. Balance. He   
hadn't felt balance in so long. After falling and falling alone for months. The   
unique blend of smells refreshed his lungs more than the oxygen masks ever   
could. The failing yellow bulbs were easy on his eyes. Nothing was sterile.   
Everything was dangerous, and therefore, he was in love. Vulnerable and yet   
most comfortably secure.  
  
Where was she?  
  
*Never felt so alive *  
  
It was awkward, but she felt some of the tension easing from her shoulders into   
something she might find useful. Watching something so familiar, but foreign.   
Done just enough differently that she was enraptured by the flow of bodies and   
the shower of words.  
  
And the oddness of her stiff companion wasn't troubling, Heero glanced her way   
now and again. Obviously at a loss, and human enough to wonder what it was   
he wasn't doing. He slumped deeper into the chair, his knees pulling tight the   
torn leather pants balanced against the back of the chair in front of him. It   
seemed incredibly uncomfortable.   
  
"What's the matter?" He said finally, not nearly as gruff as it could have been   
since the words came free with a rush quite like relief that he'd managed them at   
all.  
  
"I might be relaxing, but I'm not happy." Juri warned, realizing that the   
emotions were closer to the surface that she first thought. "Just to be fair,   
alright. I don't want to say anything I might regret."  
  
"Hn." Heero said, succeeding in sounding as if he honestly didn't care.  
  
They sat still a moment longer. Finally, Heero rolled his head toward her   
completely and said quite bluntly, "If you don't do something, I will make you."  
  
"Do not mistake privilege for a blank check . . . " Her words were clipped and   
the cool resolve she'd tried to tap into agitated again.   
  
"I could say the same thing." Heero said, low and threatening, although his   
features never stiffened from their lax comfort. "You need to bottle that feeling   
and send it back where it belongs."  
  
"Oh great, bottle it up?" Juri sneered, "While you're trying to rile me again?"  
  
"You misunderstand," Heero said simply, "I meant that you need to direct it   
exactly to the source. Don't hide whatever this is. If it's in your nature, do what   
you want to. Act on your emotion."   
  
She scowled, eyes flashing. Even as Heero began to fall asleep. While the   
actors took their places on the stage, over and over again.  
  
Moved him in to share the bed,   
turns out he's sharing her instead   
Was it all worthwhile?  
  
"Oh, crap. Turn that horrid thing off." Spike winced as Julia began to dig   
through her bag. "Why the heck do you leave that on 'Memory' after all that   
we've been through together?" He rubbed his eyes with exaggerated exhaustion,   
although it had been a rather unusual day.  
  
"Got it." Julia held the small phone to her ear and listened for a moment before   
saying, "It's confirmed then? Good." She snapped the phone together and   
dropped it into her bag.  
  
"You didn't fix it." Spike scowled. "It's just going to do it again, y'know."  
  
"Cope." Julia smiled innocently, "We're a go for the Velvet tonight. But I still   
can't get Juri to answer."  
  
Spike mulled that thought for a while, letting his expression alone display the   
long process of thought. "How much you want to bet that she heard about Ruka   
somehow and that's why she never showed up today?"  
  
"I didn't quite imagine this . . . quick of a return." Julia said, tactfully. They   
were hovering in the Road Rage foyer, waiting for Sano and Faye to walk down   
to the Velvet together. Ruka had left early, avoiding their questions. Questions   
they hesitated to hazard answers for.   
  
The avoided looking at each other for a while, lost in their own suspicions and   
all too well informed opinions.   
  
Julia whispered, "If only he'd let us . . . prepare her . . ." but then their   
companions had come and such thoughts had to be set aside.  
  
Must have been funny,   
must have been dim –   
cut it up and let it all in   
Must have been funny,  
must have been dim –   
cut it up and let it all in   
  
"What's this? And why is it green?" Catherine stared at their drinks watching   
Juri drink the thing steadily even as she grimaced. A bit fearful, Catherine   
tasted the liquid and was amazed by the shocking, instantaneous reaction. "If I   
didn't know better," Catherine said, concern leaking into her words, "I'd say you   
wanted to leave that conservative habit of yours behind tonight."  
  
"You could say that," Juri leaned back, the drink finished and her eyes roaming   
the floor of the Karaoke Queen. The lights full and illuminating the floor with a   
steady warmth. A warmth that was beginning to refill her spirit.  
  
"Okay," Catherine tasted the drink again, "I'll go with you, but . . . uh . . . I think   
I'll be coming a little more slowly." She set the glass down. Noticeably, Juri   
was carrying herself differently. She had the same almost expressionless gaze,   
but the set of her jaw was tense. Predatory. Even her clothes, different shades   
of a shadow made her look like a crouched panther. Feeling the need to hold   
onto the conversation, she added, "You look pretty sexy tonight." Juri made no   
comment.  
  
Catherine's glass was empty and well on it's way to enhancing her system when   
Juri had finished three. The green stuff smelled good enough and lingered   
between them. Although nothing much had been said. Catherine kept an eye   
fixed on Juri at all times. Juri seemed to be drifting elsewhere and everywhere   
in thought.  
  
"Okay." Pushing down on her palms and managing to stand, Catherine paused   
to shake out her hair. "We need to move, or I'm going to waste away to sleep up   
here doing nothing. Saying nothing."  
  
Juri followed silently, down the stairs and into the dancers. Tangling through   
them. Cathy being pulled off by someone who might have been a regular at the   
Queen, not that either of them were attaching memories to any of the other   
faces. From a distance, Cathy still found herself concerned with Juri. Watching   
for her, stopping to find her when she wasn't immediately visible.   
  
"Enough." Catherine said, pulling away until she was facing Juri, a bit taken   
back by the bitter grin crossing the actor's features. "What is this?" Cathy said,   
reaching out with both hands, with her thumbs trying to smooth away the   
unfamiliar pull on the usually smooth skin and collected expression.   
  
Juri laughed loudly, humorless. "I'm unhappy. Terribly unhappy." She tossed   
her hair back, wrapping an arm around Catherine's waist, "I think I'm the   
unhappiest person ever."  
  
Catherine blinked, not protesting when Juri's other arm pulled her close and held   
her head against her shoulder. Breathing in deeply of Catherine's hair, "I won't   
hurt you." Juri whispered. "Not you."  
  
Still stiff, Catherine let Juri hold her. Puzzled.   
  
"You smell like peppermints, you know."  
  
"Well . . ." Catherine said, half muffled into Juri's shoulder, turning her face out   
so that only her cheek stayed against Juri. "At least whatever you made me   
drink doesn't cover that up." Her tone managing to stay light.  
  
Immediately, Juri let her go. Turning her head aside, "I shouldn't . . . maybe you   
should go."  
  
"What?" Catherine said, perplexed. "I'm okay, I'm okay." Bumped by an   
enthusiastic dancer, Catherine feebly protested as Juri walked away.  
  
Don't want you to go,  
just need you to know   
Can't leave the house:   
  
Catherine had been too soft. She should have pushed away instead of enduring.   
Otherwise, Juri was afraid she might truly break again-lose her resolve. And   
that was a violent opening for pain, a rejection she couldn't adopt just then . . .   
no not then. Not with everything that had happened just that day. She had to   
keep something intact. Something outside of herself-because she had too much   
to sort through.   
  
Where to begin?  
  
She had to release the emotions somehow. Somewhere.  
  
There always was the stage.  
  
he wouldn't dare,   
hang this guilty frame with stares  
Naked in a fray   
  
"Remind me," Sano tipped backwards in his chair, balancing on the two back   
feet, somehow managing to balance, "Who's idea was this?"  
  
"Yours, rooster head," Ruka grinned, "Take the tequila or else."  
  
"Are you sure? I'm not sure." Sano managed to pick the glass up with his finger   
tips and brought it to his lips. "I think I would have remembered if this was my   
idea."   
  
"I don't think you're going to remember much of anything." Ruka said, sitting   
comfortably. He'd agreed to one game after Sano had managed to look   
believably heart broken. He wondered where the kid had found that expression.   
Most of the others had made their excuses and gone home. It had been good to   
see them again, Saitou had seemed content with the vague story Ruka had   
shallowly developed. He had seen a few shows on the coast, between the   
unmentioned probing sessions with the doctors. Details he felt were relatively   
unnecessary. And by the looks that Spike and Julia had been giving him all   
evening, he'd be telling the full version soon enough to their particular company.  
  
The only new face had been Dorothy Catalonia who had outlasted even Shiori.   
Shiori who had made excuses and left. Still, it wasn't the time. He'd speak with   
her soon enough.  
  
"You keep taking the water." Dorothy observed, her silvery blonde hair spilling   
around her bare shoulders as she examined the remaining glasses. He liked the   
way she'd tactfully avoided the drinks herself. Always keeping her wits and   
sophistication around her.  
  
"He doesn't notice." Ruka said, smiling at Sano most fondly. The boy groaned,   
taking the last glass and letting his forehead hit the table. "I suppose you're   
giving both of us a ride home." Ruka added softly.  
  
"It's no trouble, really." Dorothy's expression was coy, but muted. Letting her   
white fingers balance her cheek and chin as she studied him thoughtfully.  
  
"Your thoughts?" Ruka asked.  
  
"I'm just fitting you in." Dorothy answered, "Interestingly enough . . . you   
weren't what I expected at all."  
  
"For the better," Ruka breathed a laugh, "I should hope."  
  
"Oh yes."  
  
It won't suit my style   
Must have been funny,   
must have been dim –   
cut it up and let it all in   
  
By that hour, those left were as misplaced as she was. Catherine must have   
understood, she had left without trying to find her again.  
  
The song seemed indulgent, but remembering the way that simple aroma had   
intoxicated her that moment. When she let her guard down. It equally   
perplexed and infuriated her. Why did she ever allow herself to consider? To   
expect? To hope?  
  
*the game we're playing is life (my love)  
*love is a two way dream  
*leave me now - return tonight  
*the tide will show you the way  
She sighed deeply, the wearing down of the alcohol against her fragile system.   
Worries, even as she picked up the lyrics of the song without evidence to tiring.   
Where was Catherine to take her home? When did she suspect that she relied on   
that too much? Why was she always adding to the anxieties? Keep it simple.  
  
*forget my name go astray  
*i'm a path of cinders (my love)  
*burning under your feet  
No. She needed a different song. She needed nothing with such hope. That she   
had lost plenty. Encouraged by the few remaining patrons, she entertained with   
another song.  
  
**Angels don't fly, they have no wings   
**It is another of those things   
**That we make up, that we believe   
Opening her eyes, Juri's vision was dim between the haze of her own thoughts   
and the foggy air of the Karaoke Queen.  
  
**The real thing is not what we conceive  
  
The polite applause mostly came from the balcony, and she stepped down letting   
the next performer take a selection. The dance floor was exclusively couples.   
She breezed past it. She didn't belong there.  
  
I don't want you to go,   
I just need you to know   
I don't want you to go,   
I just need you to know   
She gave me nothing   
that I could bear to lose   
  
"Do you really mean that?  
  
"Do you really think that no one can be a part of you?  
  
"Funny that you'd be singing that song,  
  
"On the day that Ruka's come back. Isn't he what you always wanted?  
  
"Or maybe you're afraid."  
  
Juri felt the smile return. The one that Catherine had wanted to cure. The bitter   
smirk. She looked up, unafraid now. Shiori was really quite small, when she   
thought about it. No bigger, no bigger. Not nearly as fierce as she had seemed   
before. "Afraid?" Juri repeated, her tone rich and confident.  
  
"Well, what else is there?" Shiori shrugged, "You leave when he comes. You're   
here when he's there. Simply avoiding him, aren't you? Not that I mind . . . "   
  
"My my my." Juri's eyes narrowed, "When did you return, precious?"  
  
"What?" Shiori started. Swallowing. Her hair dark and odd under the lights.   
Her eyes bright, but momentarily amazed.  
  
"I was wondering where you went. This you." Juri stepped forward, Shiori   
back against the wall where the staircase fell to the floor. "So many different   
'you's trapped in there." She firmly took Shiori's face, moving it as she liked.   
"From this direction. Or that direction." She pulled down on Shiori's chin, so   
that her lips parted. "Where's this you?" And taking control of everything that   
had overwhelmed her that day, Juri kissed the girl she could hate most of all.  
  
And if he reaches for the door,   
be sure he'll touch the wood and pause   
  
The darkest evening. The furthest into night that either had seen in some time.   
They had left Sanosuke safe in his bed, closing doors behind them.   
  
"This," Ruka leaned back to see the stars. "This is where Juri lived."  
  
"She still does." Dorothy commented. She felt a chill, but not from the night   
wind as much as from the sense of destiny crossing her intuition.   
  
Ruka frowned, "That might be so, Dorothy. But I feel as if Juri's long been in   
my past."  
  
"So why did you come?"   
  
"To see what I might be able to do for her."  
  
"You loved her?" Dorothy asked, needlessly, but using the momentum to give   
him what he needed. They understood each other well enough by that point the   
words came as polite formalities.  
  
"Most of all." Ruka glanced over, still Dorothy kept distance. "But I could only   
go with her so far. After a point, I was meaningless for her."  
  
"Someone else will take her next. If not you."  
  
"Ah, but who?" Ruka tilted his head to one side. "And why?"   
  
Ask me back for more   
We'll still shove us down the stairs,   
still get in each other's hair   
  
"Get up."  
  
The sting against her cheek was real. Rolling her head to the side, she saw the   
piece of rubber elastic where it had bounced back against the pillow. Putting her   
hand up to it, she touched it wonderingly.  
  
"By the way," It was that voice. "I hate you too. Get out of my bed."  
  
Shiori stood in the doorway. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail, still matted   
down from sleep. Her eyes darkly lined. She hadn't slept well apparently.   
  
Juri took a deep breath and remembered. And, she didn't really care. She had   
given Shiori exactly what the girl had wanted. She sat up, looking around for   
her clothes. Taking her underwear first. Slipping it on as if she did that every   
morning. Which she did. Except.  
  
"You look like you didn't sleep." Juri said, her tongue dry from her drinking the   
night before. She held her forehead a moment, then shrugged on her shirt.  
  
"Not that you look particularly beautiful either," Shiori crossed her arms. "I was   
on the couch trying to . . ."  
  
Juri raised an eyebrow, "Didn't want me to hold you, was it?"  
  
"No." The girl said quickly. "No, I didn't."  
  
Juri stood, and stretched out her limbs for a moment. Then walked barefoot   
over to the girl. "I suppose you're going to give me a ride home."   
  
That caught the girl off guard, "Have the rooster head come get you or   
something." The last word hesitant. Unpracticed.   
  
"That's what I thought." Juri leaned in, and Shiori pulled back. "Just what I   
thought." Juri lifted her lazy eyes and watched until Shiori looked away. "I'm   
leaving." Juri called back to where the girl stood unmoving. She slipped   
through Shiori's living room, finding the front door based on dim memories   
from the night before. Picking up her bag from beside the front door, picking up   
the few things that had spilled out. Finding her phone.  
  
She didn't really care what Sano thought. Honestly, from the sound of his voice,   
he might only attribute the strange beckoning to an early morning dream. To   
sleep again.  
  
She walked down to the corner and sat on the curb, pulling on her socks.   
Feeling like she was a young teenager again in that split moment. And knowing,   
most assuredly at the same time, that she was not.  
  
I don't want you to go,  
I just need you to know   
I don't want you to go,   
I just need you to know   
  
Shiori slipped sideways until she hit the wall. Dragged down until she was   
motionless against the ground. So strange. She'd hated Juri forever. Forever.   
For never loving Ruka like she had. For never noticing Ruka like she had. For   
never loving her as Juri had loved Ruka. For never noticing her.   
  
But her control had slipped. Whatever she'd tried to learn from the others, it had   
been so unnecessary. She couldn't be anything more. Her feebly gained power   
had dissolved with each touch. With each movement. Juri had taken over.  
  
She had lost again.  
  
Pounding a fist into the floor, she sobbed. What she hated most, was that   
everything Juri had done was to make her happy.  
  
And the uncertainly that filled her plans bothered her more than ever before.   
  
But with compounding assurance, she wanted to spoil everything. Whatever she   
felt was more than she could accept. More than she could live with.  
  
Did you want him to go?   
did you push him to go   
where the girl lies   
  
The full weight of the last evening poured on even as her briefly won   
satisfaciton pulled down the shower drain.   
  
She should have never listened. Acting on her emotions had gained her nothing.   
She had aborted the stir of feelings she'd never before even remotely entertained   
for Trowa's emotionally recovering sister. The stir of futile feelings that should   
have never happened.  
  
And the wealth of frustration had been released at Shiori's home. Disrupting   
whatever nobler intentions she might have wanted to forge with the girl.   
Revealing a great many restless, unresolved things from their past.   
  
The past. And then there was Ruka. From that, she had no escape.  
  
And no certainty what to expect.  
  
Where does the girl lie?   
why does she hide?   
why does she hide . . ? 


	24. Intercontinental Sigh

Intercontinental Sigh   
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Three unrelated quotes. 1. Finny had tremendous loyalty to the   
class, as he did to any group he belonged to, beginning with him and me and   
radiating outward past the limits of humanity toward spirits and clouds and   
stars." 2. "So he trembled alone there in the middle of the park for hours,   
wondering what would happen if he had an attack of appendicitis . . ." 3.   
"Sometimes you are too ashamed to leave . . . and sometimes you need too much   
to know the facts, and so humbly and stupidly you stay." Thank you John   
Knowles. As much as I cannot claim those marvelous tidbits, a great deal of   
this story is not mine. Besides the mistakes that is. This is a brief transitional   
ficlit.)  
  
  
Days. Days of waking up to unknown potentials and begging braveness.   
Rediscovering intrinsic courage and then finding, yet again, an uneventful day   
of rehearsal. Scarcely any mention that he'd come at all. Come and slipped by.   
Slipped back. Like the longest tide. And the moon was pulling strongly,   
diligently, until the chord was taunt. Buzzing.  
  
Practice greeting number one: "You've been a long time coming home."  
  
You ran out of stories   
and the night is long  
Like the iciest winter we struggle,   
the bond is gone  
Traps sprung in conversation  
And your silence is welcome  
  
"So how's it going with everything?" Catherine hovered just inside the   
refrigerator door, the brilliant glow illuminating her attentive waiting. When   
Juri didn't answer she scooped the milk from among the well preserved   
leftovers. It was early morning for both of them, but Catherine had prospective   
clients to meet for the better part of the day and they had wanted to make time   
for each other. "Just wait, I make a mean hot chocolate." She winked, letting   
the new subject become a screen. "We'll make it a genuine sleepover morning   
before I take you home."  
  
"Why are you so busy on Saturdays now?" Juri mused.  
  
"That's the way it works." Cathy said, leaning one hip against the lower   
cabinets, whisking something with a free hand and using the other to stir inside   
another cup. "At first, that is. After I've sold them on my business, they'll just   
leave me voice messages. Ms. Bloom do this. Ms. Bloom do that."  
  
"Whenever I'm with you nothing else seems so urgent I can still avoid what is   
unpleasant." Juri relaxed her cheek into one hand, smiling wistfully. "I suppose   
I'll miss that."  
  
Catherine had turned away, a strange pause hovering between them. Then she   
spun around to abruptly deposit Juri's steaming cup onto the table. With a very   
eager smile Catherine said, "Why'd you stop? A girl could use a good bit of   
flattery to start out the day." Then, sinking into the seat opposite her guest,   
"Unless you want to talk with me about everything."  
  
"If only you were the person I needed to talk to," Juri sipped the drink, timid for   
all the lingering steam and heat radiating from the cup. "But is it so wrong of   
me to want to avoid this with every heart beat?"  
  
"I suppose it's understandable not to forgive someone who must have hurt you   
so much." Catherine said, unable to meet Juri's eyes. Holding onto her mug   
with white tipped fingers.  
  
Practice greeting number two: "You've let me down."  
  
Someone somewhere must be having more fun than this  
Someone somewhere must be having more fun than this   
  
He didn't have to look up. He had sensed her presence long before the horn had   
blown and the constant chug of the wheels overwhelmed the other city sounds.   
Sunlight traveled across his features only broken now and again by a passing   
building or another train.   
  
"What's the matter, Shiori?" He continued relaxing into the worn and warped   
green plastic cushion. His thick fingers twisting around the page and continuing   
to read undisrupted.  
  
Another shadow crossed, cooling his body and causing the words to disappear   
for a moment until his vision adjusted accordingly.  
  
"I thought I told you that one should never mix power with love. It damages the   
results and the outcome is always spoiled for the weakness of the emotion." He   
didn't pity her really. After presenting her with alternate opportunity after   
opportunity, Shiori had still chosen to bait her own prey.  
  
"It was just sex."  
  
Nichol glanced up to meet Shiori's steely eyes facing him. She looked more   
unkempt than ordinary. She had nothing with her. Her fingers loosely entwined   
over her knees, her ankles crossed and delicately balanced under the train seat.   
  
"Oh, was that all?" Nichol raised an eyebrow. He lifted his chin and laughed.   
"Looks a bit more like failed revenge to me."  
  
Shiori snapped away her eyes, pulling her arms up to cross them. Tapping a   
finger restlessly and pouting in profile. Her hair trembling with hardly   
concealed rage.  
  
Nichol relaxed. "So what are your plans for the day? I was thinking about   
taking a boat out on the lake."  
  
Practice greeting number three: "I never wanted to wake up feeling like a   
tourist."   
  
You dream yours   
and I'll dream mine   
and we'll be happy  
For when I sleep,   
I am who I always wanted to be  
We dream our love will grow  
Your fake Brando, my fake Monroe  
  
She'd fallen asleep about twenty minutes in to the movie and the eerie   
background music was pulling heavy on his own eyelids. But even the hypnotic   
haze of the vast desert scenes could not lull him into final sleep. He was all too   
aware of her head on the pillow in his lap, her fingers lightly curled underneath   
and resting around his knee. Her hair was almost indistinguishable from the   
desert gold. Spike lifted a near piece and affectionately rubbed it with his   
thumb.  
  
He again promised himself this was going to be the last evening she connived   
him into watching Lawrence of Arabia. No matter how sincere her intentions to   
stay awake 'this time.' Counting this as the fourth attempt that he would have sat   
through the entire director's cut as Julia slept, he at least was going to insist she   
watch it with a stiff cup of coffee glued between her hands.   
  
He was always too darn comfortable to get up and take out the tape. And each   
time he felt a sliver closer to understanding the wild optimism Lawrence clung   
to. A self sacrificing innocent that dared all for some unobtainable, ridiculous   
ideal.  
  
Maybe if Julia stayed awake, she could explain it to him. In the meantime,   
Spike found himself frowning. His thoughts drifting from the movie and back to   
the theater.   
  
Ruka's return was almost like a dream. Without word from him in some time,   
their friend simply showed up at the Road Rage for a days worth of almost   
familiar entertainment to disappear again. They didn't even know where he was   
staying.   
  
Damn, how long would those camels keep walking? Was the desert never   
ending? But the ending always came too soon and never with proper warning.  
  
Practice greeting number four: " It never ends when you're bored, curious and   
unsure . . . so tell me-why?"  
  
Someone somewhere must be having more fun than this  
Someone somewhere must be having more fun than this  
  
"I promise I will not drink like a crazy man for some time."  
  
"Okay, let's try that once more now." Faye lifted her arms like a conductor.  
  
"I promise I will not drink like a crazy man for some time." Sano rolled his   
eyes.  
  
"Now this one, 'I will not destroy my liver before I'm twenty-two."  
  
"Thanks, Miss Chain-smoker, I get the drift." Sano rolled his head back along   
the top of the couch. "Why ever did I agree to come visit you? I knew I was   
going to get the Spanish inquisition."  
  
"Better than if I told mom and dad." Faye taunted. "You need to get out, but to   
places where the alcohol is de-emphasized. I heard through the fine wine vine   
that Spike, Kenshin and even Ruka have taken you home this past week." She   
left the wooden kitchen chair from which she had taken the offensive and   
quickly sat near him on the couch, letter her head drop and balance on Sano's   
still young and bony shoulder. "I'm only worried about you, alright?"  
  
"I can't even remember how long it's been since I talked to her."  
  
Faye nodded into his arm, "Dummy, you don't have to fix her problems   
anymore. Hear me?"  
  
"I really wanted to."  
  
"That's why you're one of the good ones."  
  
Practice greeting number five: "You really haven't changed one bit."  
  
Someone somewhere must be having more fun than this  
Someone somewhere must be having more fun than this  
  
She was far past admitting that she was beginning to resent waiting for him to   
come to her. The inevitability was certain, but the opportunity was severely   
limited. And she had yet to decide what avenues and actions she would take to   
initiate the coming reunion. Becoming what? And that was another question.   
  
The question she'd been able to skirt for months on the simplicity of continued   
ignorance. Avoiding the concern and the disgust. Avoiding the choosing of   
either.  
  
Left to linger.  
  
"Someone somewhere must be having more fun that this." Juri grumbled.   
Catherine was busy. Catherine who had quite honestly been able to accept   
everything without judgment. Savoring the potential answers for the questions   
that were never asked.   
  
The only other distraction was a small sting against her cheek. A sting that was   
undressed compared to the greater balance of discontent.  
  
Reflecting on her options again, she could quite simply say, "Ruka, why did you   
even bother?"  
  
If she asked herself later, she wouldn't be able to quite pinpoint why she   
answered this call while she let all the others go. Snapping up the phone at the   
small announcement someone was trying to reach her.  
  
"This is Juri." Initial inquiry.  
  
"Why are *you* calling me?" A bitter taste.  
  
"The hospital?" Disbelief.  
  
"She's what? Shut up. Nevermind all that. I'll be there soon enough."  
  
"Dammit." Juri said after snapping closed the phone. She knew she needed a   
car. It was at times like this that she could only rely on providence. But   
glancing out the window earlier that day she'd noticed that Sano had been gone   
all day. Catherine was gone. Perhaps Trowa? Or Spike? Or even Saitou?  
  
She started at the knock on her door. Opening it with a rush.  
  
"Do you have a car here? Get me to the hospital."  
  
"Which hospital?"  
  
As she flew by without bothering to lock her door, Ruka embraced the sudden   
relief. Before, hesitating just outside the door, he hadn't been quite sure what he   
was supposed to say. 


	25. Wear Your Bruises Well

Wear Your Bruises Well  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Hello wire, where did you come from? It's late in the story. I can be cliché, right? The end is near! Not here, but near. Lyrics from Catatonia's "That's All Folks" and "You Can.")  
  
With all the hurry, she must have left her sense of time behind. Juri crossed her arms, feeling chilly and exposed but strangely detached from everything. Ruka, of all people, was with her. Leaning across the desk trying to figure out where the night shift nurse had gone. Her evening hadn't started yet so she was looking for the nurse who had been on duty earlier. When whatever had happened had happened. Ruka, strangely enough, resting on his elbows. Casually, as if he belonged there.  
  
She took a deep breath and wondered how she could feel as if her consciousness had been smashed into the farther back corner of her head. Peering through the dim haze of grey cells into the brilliantly bright hospital glow.  
  
"Upstairs." Ruka called toward her, and she put a leg forward and followed like a stiff automaton. Commanded by whatever direction was next given to her. "She has her own room. Apparently, they moved her there after the x- rays. She's been moved over from the outpatient mental health ward, since they decided she was clear headed enough and wasn't going to be hurting herself."  
  
"I'll believe that when I see it." Juri murmured.  
  
"I agree," Ruka nodded, "She is an actor after all."  
  
Did no one warn us, no one want us  
  
They did not warm to us  
  
I feel winter's breath in my bones  
  
Nichol was leaning against the wall of the second floor waiting room. Chewing something he must have resigned himself to from the vending machine. His eyes uplifted to the television that was remotely set on a local news station. He looked not unlike he was waiting for a bus, which relieved Juri and infuriated her at the same time.  
  
Nichol saw them approach and continued to chew. His sturdy chin tight at the edges.  
  
"What the hell happened?" Juri hissed, walking right up to him and letting the full power of her momentum to that point follow through as she slapped him hard. Nichol let his chin hover over his far shoulder before slowly turning back to meet Juri's eyes, hardly any distance between them at all.  
  
He pushed his tongue into the cheek she had slapped. "It's a long story."  
  
"They all are." Her voice lowered, glaring. Trying not to let Nichol distract her as he glanced beyond her to wherever Ruka was waiting.  
  
"I didn't know you were going to bring him." Nichol raised his eyebrows, "Although, it might not have been a bad idea." Nichol raised his hands, one still holding the bag of M&Ms, bringing them between himself and Juri's aura of anger. "Don't you get the wrong idea about this whole thing either."  
  
"I think I have a pretty good idea of what's been going on."  
  
"Juri." Ruka said, and when Juri turned at the waist to scowl his direction. Ruka nodded toward the television. The evening news was just beginning to cover the details of a near suicide involving an individual running before an oncoming train. Until the girl was thwarted by a quick thinking member of the station crowd. She watched as the anchor made a brief story of the occasion, and still didn't like what she heard.  
  
"You didn't even notice did you?" Nichol said, gesturing toward the other side of his face and at the raw skin of his far arm. "Assumed a bit much to think that I'm the bad guy here, didn't you?"  
  
"You're not innocent." Juri frowned. Processing.  
  
"And neither are you, my dear." Nichol popped another piece of candy into his mouth and shrugged. "But I wasn't going to just let the fool kill herself either. And I figured, you'd want to see her."  
  
"Right. Thank you." Juri clipped the words, "Thank you for calling. Did you call anyone else?"  
  
"No." Nichol glanced back at her from the news show that had moved on to the latest story for the event filled city. The moment was over, recorded and forgotten. "But they'll hear soon enough, I'm sure."  
  
"Can I see her?"  
  
"Not a single nurse has been by in the past fifteen minutes. I'd hurry before they start enforcing some sort of visitation rules. Unless she's asleep, of course." Nichol did relax a little as Juri walked past him to the room he'd waved at. Deciding then that maybe he didn't want to have to rely on his legs to support him any longer and took a seat.  
  
But I'm a loose canon whore  
  
Knows the score, shown the door before the night's out  
  
At least you wear your bruises well  
  
At least you have some tales, something about you  
  
Slipping in, Juri was a bit taken back by the almost casual and carefree way that Shiori was propped up in the hospital bed. On arm held cautiously over her form in a sling, the rest of her thinly veiled by the single white sheet. The girl's head was rolled to one side and balanced between her shoulder and the additional pillows. Trying as best she might to see the sky from the distant, darkening window.  
  
"I told them to leave it open." Shiori said, not looking over. Imagining it was Juri. Knowing it was her. "Watching them stumble over themselves to make me feel . . . indulged. Pampered. Worthwhile." Her lips pulled back into a smile of sorts. "Funny how I always thought I'd want to be treated as a princess. Like that might make me happy. To have my way."  
  
Juri closed the door behind her and waited near it. In the darkest part of the room and watching Shiori a bit fearfully. As if she'd never seen this girl before. Between all the faces, this Shiori she wasn't sure she recognized.  
  
"I think I eat too fast. You know how they tell you to chew twenty-seven times or something crazy like that. Maybe I eat life a bit too fast. But, chewing on life . . . it can get long. Waiting." The girl's hair was full and spread out and around her head like fine whispers, a light glow radiating from her face. Almost as if she were a specter or some other sort of passing spirit. "So much of it that can become such a tedious bother. Running so fast, and getting nowhere whatsoever."  
  
"Is this an explanation?" Juri said, her voice sounding cold. Or maybe it was only the temperature of the room as the words slipped out.  
  
"And talking. What good is talking? When so much of it is shallow, scripted dialogue. Or words so full you can't wrap a thought around them before they're gone." Shiori clicked her tongue, "Or maybe listening. No one listens, they only talk."  
  
"You're doing a lot of talking." Juri stepped closer. "What the hell were you thinking?" Her last words faintest of all. "What was I supposed to do? If the phone call was to tell me you were . . . weren't alive?" She pulled her fingers into fists so they wouldn't tremble. "What was I supposed to do?"  
  
"Why are you wondering that?" Shiori asked, turning to peer into the darkness where Juri lurked.  
  
"I never thought . . ." Juri said, pulling all emotion from her tone because she didn't trust it.  
  
"Why would you?" Shiori asked.  
  
"I wanted to notice you. I wanted to be able to see you." Juri looked at her feet. "But, I don't really know you at all, do I?"  
  
"Hmm." Shiori responded, smiling distantly as she was hiding all of her thoughts. "Now try answering this. Who would know me? Who really knows you, Juri? That doesn't happen. No matter how hard we try."  
  
"Are you alright?" Juri said, a bit mystified. "Do you have a fever? Did they put you on medication?"  
  
"No," Shiori chuckled eerily, "It's just a little bit funny, you see. I thought I was going to step in front of that train and just kill myself. I couldn't care. I didn't want any of the options I thought might be left available to me." She pulled her other arm from under the sheet and set it on top of the first. Curling her fingers together. "You know, this isn't the first time I've tried something like this."  
  
"No?" Juri frowned.  
  
"No. Ask Nichol. He's heard all the stories. Seen me in action. Whenever we'd go to the clubs together, I'd live a new suicide. Never seriously though. I couldn't follow through because I had too much revenge to live for. He reminded me of that." Shiori sighed, but her expression still oddly content. "He reminded me I didn't have the guts to take what I wanted. To take you, him, my life. And when I wanted to prove that I did, he stopped me." She sputtered a strange laugh again. "He thought he was going to take something away from me again. Keep me alive. A little play puppet."  
  
'You are on medication." Juri tried to sound dismissive. Waving one hand, a blur of motion in the deepening shadow. The sun was setting and nothing but dim reflections could be seen through the window.  
  
"No." Shiori shook her head, "If I'm delirious, it's because I'm insane or happy or I can't describe it." She began to sit up from where she'd been leaning against the prop of the pillows. "It's silly really. They were simply doing routine lab work and found that . . . well, Juri, . . . they found that I'm going to be a mother."  
  
Ooh baby blue is it true  
  
I'm a free radical, libertine  
  
"How'd you get my number? Dorothy? Damn her. She's here. Yes, and so is she. I suppose you're coming whether I want you to or not? Don't thank me." Nichol sneered into the telephone and closed it. Glancing up he saw Juri coming back into the waiting room. "Was she awake, I gather?"  
  
"Yes." Juri sat down on the edge of a far seat, resting her elbows against her knees, curled forward. "She wasn't making much sense. Must have her on some medicine." Juri appraised him with a scrutinizing eye. "She's saying some odd things."  
  
"I wouldn't know." Nichol said dismissively, "But I'm getting ready to leave this party. Barton just called my cell phone. Now I'm going to have to change the number or something."  
  
"I'm surprised the hospital hasn't got you shut away in one of these rooms." Ruka commented, his voice still seeming strangely out of place.  
  
Nichol scoffed, "I heal quickly. Barton's already on his way, so I'm checking out. Later." Nichol walked off without further comment.  
  
"I wonder if he knows?" Juri said to herself.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Nothing." Juri shook her head, Ruka took the seat next to hers and leaned forward as well. Turning to watch her more closely.  
  
"I feel odd." Ruka admitted, "Being here with you again. I can't remember why I would ever do anything else but be with you."  
  
"Oh, and this is a great example of how we should spend our time together." Juri let the worried sarcasm slip into her tone.  
  
"It's unusual, true." Ruka nodded, leaning back. Taking back his space. Providing distance.  
  
"That's right." Juri noticed his body's language. "Pull back. Go away. Don't remember that you're the one who's the active leaver."  
  
"I'd lost you a long time before I went away."  
  
"And where did you go?" Juri leaned back herself, turning awkwardly in the seat to see him better. "Without telling any of us . . ."  
  
"That's not entirely true." Ruka raised a finger, realizing the comment was a mistake as Juri's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I didn't think . . . I never imagined life like this, Juri. Where the best decisions are the ones that might hurt others and yourself."  
  
"You were making all the decisions," Juri turned away, "You chose to pull back. You chose to disappear. Leaving me stranded here to volley the sympathetic looks, the pitying words, the raised eyebrows. And the questions. How was I supposed to answer the questions?"  
  
"Was it that way?"  
  
"No." Juri sighed, "No one actually asked the questions. Which made the unspoken answers linger all the longer."  
  
With overwhelming sentimentality, Ruka reached out and touched her hair, "My girl." He said softly.  
  
Juri closed her eyes. Wishing herself away from where she was. What she'd seen. Everything she knew. And who she had been.  
  
"When I open my eyes," Juri began, "Are you going to be gone?"  
  
"I realized that I had been depending on your life to supply breath for my own. All along. All these years." He paused, "I suppose I'm afraid to be away from you so long. And there is no way that I can stay."  
  
She refused to try to understand his damned secretive logic and held her fingers to her temples. Shielding herself as best she could from the undulating, buzzing lights. When she felt his hand on her shoulders, she looked up. Saw Trowa. Heero not far behind.  
  
But Ruka had slipped away.  
  
It's not you that they came for?  
  
the lies ring true  
  
time plays tricks  
  
You always knew  
  
the wise feign injury  
  
It's not you that they came for?  
  
Rehearsals began to consume their existence. Saitou began to increase the pressure, the final week's rehearsal were to be violently productive. The dance scenes rough with passion, the songs cracked with emotion, the duels faulted with prowess.  
  
While watching her closely, Juri watched the girl transform in the days following her temporary hospital stay. Glowing with inner confidence, Shiori slowly began to steal her scenes away with energetic and insightful depth to her arguably villainous character. Her building spirit created an intrinsic attraction that even the haughty Saionji had felt pulled into. Watching his pathetic petitions fall on her too amused ears.  
  
"Saionji, listen to me." Shiori had curled one finger, beckoning the lime- locked actor. He had eagerly glided up to her side with a huskily whispered, "Yes, my dear. Anything." And with that, Shiori had found herself a quite willing lapdog. At least until it occurred to Saionji a few days later that he was no farther than he was before and being mocked again.  
  
As much as Juri wanted to attribute the girl's revelation to the stressful imagination of her near death, the stunning vitality was certainly convincing to the alternate source. But then the truth of the comment left another question begging for answer.  
  
"Who's the father?"  
  
Shiori stopped walking away, and slowly turned to see Juri waiting alone in the middle of the hall. A few steps behind. To her credit, the girl avoided the coy tone she might have laced onto the answer. Instead she said sincerely, "I'm not sure."  
  
"But you must have some idea." Juri protested.  
  
"It's not your child." Shiori smiled sympathetically.  
  
"Is it Nichol's? Does he know?"  
  
"You're the only one who I've told." Neither of them moved. But the space around them seemed to shrink tight. "Besides those who've guessed."  
  
"Who's guessed?" Juri persisted.  
  
"Ruka."  
  
With that the conversation finished.  
  
I could do without lectures  
  
So heaven protect us  
  
From these bad vibes you're giving  
  
Oh these bad vibes you're giving  
  
"You've seemed to have lost the handle on your pet after your sudden display of heroics." Dorothy was pulling on the sleeves of her costume glancing in the mirror. Leaning so that she could better see Nichol's scowling reflection from the corner chair. "She's practically preening with enthusiasm these days. None to your credit, I'm sure."  
  
"I didn't save her to have her swoon over me."  
  
"No, she was doing that ~before~ you knocked her over." Dorothy let the last words roll off her tongue with flavored slowness. "Now, on the other hand, Shiori seems to be brimming with new life."  
  
"I don't like what you're saying." Nichol grumbled. He was sitting backwards on the seat. His arms folded over the top of the wooden rest. Brows pulled tight. He had been avoiding the simple mathematical equation for some time. Although he had suspected, the truth would be clouded in uncertainty.  
  
"Seems like the kitten has found an upper hand. Her calling. A life's mission." Dorothy pulled her pale fingers through her hair, "And all without my help. And it might be that she doesn't need yours either."  
  
Dorothy reluctantly decided on a brush, holding her hair and only combing through the ends. Turning to watch Nichol continue to glower. Almost imagining she did see the ripples of heat rising from his figure.  
  
"No one will probably say it, besides myself," Dorothy put down the brush and walked over to him, her hand on his shoulder an ivory contrast to his charcoal, "But I know that under all the games, the crass jokes and cruel intentions. You identify with her too much. Be happy. Shiori's escaped her lady. Escaping her revenge."  
  
"Happy?" Nichol said, letting himself sound tired. "Right, I'll be happy when she stops lording it over me in all these scenes we have together."  
  
"She hasn't said anything to you?"  
  
"Not a word."  
  
"She's become a tease. The worst kind." Dorothy mock-clucked her tongue, finding her fan prop and practiced opening it with one hand and closing it against the palm of the other.  
  
Nichol pulled away from the chair. "Stop sounding like we've lost anything. Just because there's a new player doesn't mean we fold." He stomped out of the room.  
  
"Oh, Nichol." Dorothy let her shoulders relax when he was some time gone. "But what if the child is yours?"  
  
I saw the photographs too,  
  
frozen reminders of what interest can do  
  
And how he gave it to you,  
  
a generous fool  
  
forgets how hard he can bruise  
  
But when you go to talk about your thing,  
  
You make it great,  
  
make it a brilliant thing  
  
"It's a bit too cold for the bike." Catherine protested lazily, she was sprawled on Juri's couch and trying to convince Juri with her slyly unsubtle comments that she needed to be invited for a sleepover. She'd heard about Shiori's suicide attempt not long after from her brother. And had been keeping a closer eye on Juri since she knew, or at least suspected, that something significant and powerful was between those two women. Not that Catherine had been let in on much detail. Not that she felt as if she could pry.  
  
"Catherine, I want to ask you something personal." Juri was in her easy chair, one leg draped over the arm, her elbow balanced so that her hand was screening her vision from any light. Her other hand holding an iced drink.  
  
"Okay," Catherine put a little hesitation in her voice, turning her head up to the uneven ceiling. "Shoot."  
  
"Will you ever resolve things with Sanosuke?"  
  
"Oh." Catherine curled up her knees and rolled on her side. "That." For a time, silence balanced the night noises coming in through the window. And in one of the apartments not so far away, they could imagine where the boy lived. "I don't think I know how to, Juri. I'm a bit more professional at the screwing things up end. I can't even talk with Duo. And it's hard enough to see my daughter." Again the silence. The hour changed, and they both understood that Catherine was going to be staying the night. Relaxing in each other's company. "What happened to our moving forward motto? I liked that one." She tried a lighter texture of words.  
  
"What if one can only move forward so much, until they realize they've been inevitably tethered to the past?" Juri set her drink on the nearby end table.  
  
"Tied back?" Catherine sighed, "You'll have to ask someone else that one. Trowa, maybe. I'm not privy to that information. Did you realize that my brother was restlessly head over heels for that boyfriend of his for nearly ten years? Ten years before that thread pulled them back together."  
  
"Ten?" Juri repeated, unable to comprehend.  
  
"I couldn't manage to stay in love for six months."  
  
"That sounds more normal." Juri said softly. "Your brother and Heero are a touch strange. I don't think duration is their most immediate problem."  
  
"Why do you always start to ask me these things," Catherine said boldly, "Without explaining to me exactly why and what answers you seek?"  
  
"I think for all my bravado," Juri said reluctantly, "I'm the passive one."  
  
"Forward bravado or passive," Catherine replied quickly, "You're the genuine one." And after a moment. "I admire that."  
  
It never ends when you're bored, curious and unsure  
  
Inside out, but you still sigh  
  
Playing mind games with yourself  
  
Always get by with the lies,  
  
Say it won't last it will  
  
Page-it's alright, alright  
  
It never ends when you're bored, curious and unsure  
  
"Unless I'm mistaken," the voice splintered his latest round of staring into oblivion, "Your sister promised me I wasn't going to be taking you home again."  
  
"I'm not drunk." Sanosuke said, still holding his glass. While there was only evidence of one, Ruka still took what remained from the boy's fingers, sitting across from him.  
  
Ruka tasted the drink and winced, "This is nasty, Sano. What sort of mess have you gotten yourself into?"  
  
"I'm not in a mess," Sano was still able to speak properly and met Ruka's appraising glance with a steady eye. "I've been rejected from the mess and deemed unworthy of loving her."  
  
"Hmm." Ruka nodded, trying to look wise.  
  
"Man, I suppose you understand that all too well." Sano frowned. "Watching you and Juri grow apart. And you had something built up. My girl, she was just . . . enjoying the scenery. Handling a little road bump."  
  
"I hope that's the alcohol talking. Although, you must realize, that not every bump can be smoothed out. Definitely not by that booze you're wasting good money on." Ruka said. "Tell me, Sanosuke. Whatever happened with Misao? When I left, she was attached to you like you were an ungreased pot."  
  
"Lovely," Sano snickered, "Well, now we know why Kenshin's the scribe of the Road Rage and not you."  
  
"Sano," Ruka warned lightly.  
  
"I don't know, she suddenly seemed too much my age."  
  
"And how old are you, twenty-one?"  
  
"Almost twenty-two."  
  
Ruka laughed, "Forgive me, Sano. I shouldn't sit here laughing like this." Ruka fell back in the seat, his eyes closed against even the lowered lights of the Velvet. Holding himself with one arm, laughing. His unruly hair folding in around his face.  
  
"What's this?" Sano snorted, trying not to fall into his own fever of inexplicable laughter.  
  
"If you have it this bad at twenty-two, kid, then it's only going to get bleaker. Trust me." Ruka stopped laughing, but still sat crumpled in his seat, his face pale even in the shadowed lights. "Drink slower."  
  
"Fine." Sano shrugged, "I just don't have much else to do these nights."  
  
"Did you consider going back to school?"  
  
"Why?" Sano wrinkled his nose, "I just escaped."  
  
"Not so much, and not so soon." Ruka began to re-stretch out his limbs, pulling out his torso like an accordion, his breath likewise coming out in a low wheeze. "But, my boy, you have talent. If Saitou hasn't told you, I'd be surprised if he doesn't soon. I can think of a handful of grad schools that might take you, and eagerly." Sano still seemed reluctant. "You know who you should ask about it is that Trowa Barton fellow. He went to one of the best schools in the country."  
  
"Trowa?" Sano hesitated, then with a great deal more enthusiasm. "I suppose I could ask him."  
  
Ruka smiled weakly, "Don't let it get to your head." While he himself was overwhelmed with relief that he'd just briefly and once again recovered and glimpsed the boy's true smile.  
  
Even if it were to be the only thing he could accomplish in his short time.  
  
It's just hard to be recumbent again  
  
It comes and ruins your day, a shove in the side  
  
enough to drive you insane  
  
But when you go to talk about your thing,  
  
Make it great, make it a brilliant thing  
  
It never ends when you're bored, curious and unsure 


	26. Long Time Lonely

Long Time Lonely  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Alas and did my story long end. To quote Tolstoy, 'All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way . . . there was no answer, except the general answer life gives to all the most complex and insoluble questions. That answer is: one must live for the needs of the day, in other words, become oblivious." Thank you to everyone who's read this in it's entirety. Special thanks to Alithea and Rissah for the support. Now, to someday be as insightful and verbose as Tolstoy. Or Catatonia. Cheers.)  
  
  
  
Prologue  
  
The show was over. The audience had warmly embraced the final performance and slipped back into the real world. Back to their own homes and patterned sheets. To wake in the morning. Slip on suits and dress shoes. Finding deeply hidden in the responsibility-levity, loosed by the lingering art in their spirits.  
  
The cast had remained longer. Restoring order, reassembling the props and other technicalities. Broad grins and back slapping. Only a few specters haunted the halls as the lights left deep shadows when the revelers dismissed to rest. Rest before the next day's festivities.  
  
She watched him glide across the stage having come out to finish his duties after the others had left. At ease and quiet with content. Crossing her arms, Juri walked closer to see more clearly the way he collected his equipment. One piece at a time, cradling the pile of odds and ends in the crook of his opposite arm.  
  
She stood at the edge so that she could rest against the stage, leaning over slightly. Smiled, "Why are you still here?"  
  
"This is where I belong." Mikage glanced over, hesitating a moment to see her. Although he recognized her voice.  
  
"You say that so easily," Juri laughed mirthlessly, but not unkind. "How can you say you belong here and know that you do not better belong somewhere else?"  
  
The matter-of-fact answer. "Because here is where I am."  
  
"Are you coming tomorrow?"  
  
Mikage unbent his form, and studied her from behind his glasses. The folds of his collar, his vest, elongating his fair features. Enhancing his ghostly appearance in the dim lights. "Are you?" He said simply, watching.  
  
"Of course," Juri's response was quick, then she waited. Spoke again, "They are perfect for each other. And they've been together long. So long, that it seems like a distant dream when I was with him. Did that happen?" She shook her head with a crooked grin appearing just then. "Will this moment seem that distant in the future?"  
  
"Moments make us who we are."  
  
***  
  
Amongst the cheers echoing to the ceiling of the Road Rage, Sanosuke Sagara's comment carried above the others, "Alright, you've smothered the bride enough, Spike-o! Come up for air."  
  
Visible to everyone, Spike's cheeks lifted into a smile, even as he kissed his wife and partner. Pulling back only so slightly, he again voiced his feelings, "I love you, Julia."  
  
"I told you it was a good idea to reiterate our vows here, in this place." She said softly, but no one would have heard for the commotion. Not even Ruka who, nearest to them and just on the side of the stage, had returned to replay his role as best man. As Spike's brow pulled together, she added quickly, "Not that the traditional service last weekend wasn't a good idea for the relatives, but this is our family too." Spike still frowned until understanding made her laugh gaily, "Don't worry, I love you too." Then whispered playfully, "I thought telling you that last week settled it."  
  
"You were the one that insisted on doing this again in costume." Spike shrugged with mock innocence. A somewhat awkward shrug that made the metal plating of his stage armor shift. "And I'm taking this off as soon as possible."  
  
"Couldn't you just leave on the chain mail, Arthur?" She coyly picked up his stage name. "It makes you look so . . ."  
  
"You're fortunate that I meant what I said earlier," Spike said, holding out his hand onto which Julia rested her own, a flowing sleeve all that was between them as he escorted her past their smiling co-actors and into the Road Rage foyer.  
  
Ruka followed a few steps behind where everyone was spilling into the center aisle. Faye ahead of the others. Still apparently feeling some of her recent stage manager duties as she hurried to pick up the additional train on Julia's dress. Shin watching with an amused expression even as Faye stumbled before righting herself. One of the few guests at this gathering that wasn't contracted or officially committed to the Road Rage. The other outside dates included Trowa Barton's sister and boyfriend, young Misao and one of Julia's friends.  
  
"Seems like he's recovered from the bachelor party well enough," Kenshin said near the front of the mingling mass of people even as Ruka tried to gain everyone's attention. As the best man, he had been given the duty to provide guidance and instructions.  
  
Ruka laughed, "It's Sano's carpet that has definitely seen better days."  
  
"Aren't we all glad the rooster head hosted that," Sano added sarcastically, hearing the conversation.  
  
"I seem to believe that all the fun was the rooster head's idea in the first place," Ruka said hurriedly, then did manage to gain everyone's attention. Speaking louder, "I don't think Julia could keep Spike in that costume much longer. Therefore, we're all to go to the Velvet ahead of them. Tonight the establishment is ours."  
  
"They're never going to show up if that's the case." Saitou's sly and unexpected comment earned him a few dazed looks.  
  
"Ignoring that," Ruka continued with a smile, "I've heard that the first round is on our favorite director. And we've got an open mike if any of you care to sing ever again after this last show."  
  
"No one sings 'Memory'." Saitou added piercing them all with a glare.  
  
Ruka chuckled, almost allowing himself to feel like part of the company. Almost feeling as if he'd never left, everything at the Road Rage came so naturally to him. Upon speaking with them, Spike and Julia had understood, offering to adjust their plans even as he feebly protested. Here he was accepted. Here he could set aside anything that disillusioned him forgetting that briefly with the sparkles of the stage and the spirits of the cast. Restoring much needed hope.  
  
As the company thinned, moving on to their favorite International Velvet, he felt unusually comforted as each of them passed. Even the newcomers and Dorothy's smile refreshed him.  
  
Only one expression remained cryptic. "You belong here."  
  
"I'm sorry?" Ruka's grin relaxed slightly, confused.  
  
"Just . . . I-," Juri kept some distance, "I suppose now isn't the time." She spoke quickly, "Shall we go?"  
  
If you swing to and fro let your inhibitions go  
  
They're crippling and useless  
  
"How are you and Julia friends?" Cathy chuckled, leaning across the table, "I mean, I haven't seen anyone wear as much leather and large jewelry- besides Heero of course."  
  
Heero glanced up as he heard his name and watched the addressed woman change from an high eyebrow listening expression to a dangerous, all encompassing smile.  
  
"I was a ruffian no-good student, and actually what it was-I used to torment poor patient Shin to death, we were the same age you see. Julia was a good deal older than us, but fond of the guy, he was her neighbor, so she-well, she planted my best shiner." The girl ran her fingers over the closely cut dark hair, "With that one well placed punch, she became my hero."  
  
"Julia hit you?" Cathy laughed, her mouth in an open smile.  
  
"Yup. One, two, pow."  
  
"So you idealized Julia." Trowa glanced over to the few couples who had started dancing to the music of a local band that was the newlyweds' favorite. "But what happened with Shin then, Hilde?"  
  
"Oh, nothin' much," Hilde laughed, clicking her teeth against the metal in her tongue. "I had this little crush on him, it's his eyes you see. But the only way I knew to show it back then was to push him away. Seems that he found someone better at reeling him in." She waved to where the reporter they were discussing held Faye close.  
  
Cathy chuckled some more, finished her glass, and slugging her brother on the shoulder announced, "I think this is our song bro, let's stretch these limbs. Whatcha say?"  
  
"Well, I wanted to finish this and . . ."  
  
"Wrong answer." Cathy shook her head, "This has three beat measures. You used to be good at waltzing!" Without hearing another protest, she dragged the auburn haired man from his place while chatting cheerfully with herself, "Should be at least some waltzing at a reception. And I want . . ."  
  
"This isn't really a reception, Cath . . ."  
  
"Sort of a fast three step pulse for a waltz, wouldn't you say?" Hilde never seemed to stop enjoying herself, amusement in each tone as Catherine pulled her sibling into the tangle of dancers.  
  
"Hn." Heero nodded, realizing that the table was suddenly empty besides them and that he might actually be pulled into a conversation. Hilde had attached herself to Catherine while waiting for her childhood chum and her new husband, finding with Catherine a mutual interest in motorcycles. In that time, the most he'd found in common with Hilde was the tendency to wear black.  
  
"We're not just going to sit here, are we?" Hilde's face expressive with disapproval. "Ask me to dance."  
  
Perplexed, Heero looked around, "I don- . . ."  
  
"Okay!" Hilde sprang from her seat, "I'd love to." After she grasped his hand from the table, Heero felt obligated to give the girl her dance. She was essentially an outsider as well. And he might as well enjoy himself.  
  
I'll be your enemy if that's what you want me to be  
  
Yeah that'll do nicely  
  
"Wasn't that Barton's boy groping with a girl?"  
  
Dorothy glanced over from where she and Nichol had become comfortable at the bar. She was leaning backwards from the stool, letting her shoulders balance against the counter's top. Nichol balanced likewise just to her left. "I don't think I'd technically call that groping . . ."  
  
"Sure, that's interpretive dance." Nichol snorted into his beer. "How the hell did we get invited to this?"  
  
"Why did you come?"  
  
"It's free. Why did you come?"  
  
Dorothy smiled, putting on a demure appearance, "For the romance." When Nichol tried not to choke, she added lightly, "To watch, of course."  
  
"Biding our time before participating. Yeah, so what's there left to do with this crowd?" Nichol scoffed, his attention pulled passed the movement. Somehow finding her. Sensing the glow of the vivacious child having come into her own.  
  
"Patience, Nichol," Dorothy leaned her head back so that the ends of her pale gold hair brushed against her bared shoulder blades, "I don't suppose you have any of that."  
  
I know this world's got the measure of me  
  
And I know that I'm not quite as sure as I should be  
  
"Watch out or we're going to run into . . ." Catherine squealed, not feeling quite reassured as her brother wrapped his arm more securely around her waist as they playfully waltzed between the others and he easily lifted her around the next dancer, a tall shadow. Just as swiftly twirling her to the opposite side of the floor. Catherine barely had time to realize what he had done.  
  
"Ah, well it looks like Sano's dancing now." Trowa pulled Cathy around, blocking her from other's view. "Did you want to stop or . . ."  
  
Catherine sighed heavily, looking down, "I knew I couldn't avoid him here."  
  
"That doesn't mean that you have to . . ." Trowa's eyes softened sympathetically.  
  
"I don't know, I-" Catherine found her inner strength, "I'll be fine, Trowa. Thanks for amusing me, go find Heero and I'll track down Juri and get properly drunk or something."  
  
"Sure?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
And I know that I'm not quite as sure as I should be  
  
Something about the way her bracelets spun around her slender wrists made him grin.  
  
"Wow, there's a killer smile." Hilde flashed one of her own, "I don't come to the city often enough to satisfy Jules, but now that I know dark, handsome and Asian lives here, I might make exceptions."  
  
"Well . . ." Heero turned to face her again, "Actually . . ." She was laughing at him.  
  
"Are you normally the silent type?" The girl raised one decorated eyebrow, settling her arms on his shoulders. "That's cute. I talk too much anyway. So what do you do at the Road Rage, Heero-kun?"  
  
Caught off guard by the way she addressed him, Heero found his tongue loosed, "I own the Glass House actually."  
  
"The Glass House?" She tilted her head to one side, using the momentum to spin them around playfully.  
  
"It's another theater," Heero rasped through a quiet laugh. "What do you do?"  
  
"I'm a telemarketer."  
  
Heero started, "A tele-I'd never . . . looking like . . ."  
  
"You never know who's on the other end of the phone." Hilde snickered, "It's part time while I go to school I'm good at it to, I'll have you know." Then her eyes sparkled, "So how did you get invited here?"  
  
"I'm here with someone actually. I'm seeing Trowa . . ."  
  
"No," Hilde pulled back and Heero took his hands off her hips immediately. Then she laughed loudly again, "Damn. That's too bad really. I think that it could have been magic between us." She winked, before looping her arms around his neck again. He smiled, finding her enthusiasm contagious.  
  
Life's such an irritant for a picture of innocence like me  
  
Now what do you take me for?  
  
"Where is Juri?" Catherine peered through the few people at tables. Saitou and Kenshin apparently engaged in some sort of contest at the air hockey table someone had brought along for the evening. For that matter, she hadn't seen Ruka lately either. He was supposed to set up the karaoke machine, and Trowa had become distracted taking the task upon himself with the help of the local band members.  
  
"Who are you looking for?"  
  
Swallowing didn't seem to do enough to clear her throat. Turning, Catherine tried to smile succeeding in getting her cheek to twitch once. "Juri. Have you seen her?"  
  
"Maybe she's with Ruka." Sano said, putting his hands in his pockets and seeming uncertain as if he had done the right thing by addressing her. "Bringing in the happy couple."  
  
The last words hovered unfortunately before Catherine could add, "You look well."  
  
He shook his head, almost sheepishly, "I'm alright as long as I don't drink too much. I'm thinking about going to grad school."  
  
"Oh." Catherine remembered what had been so intoxicating about his boyish charm as Sano fought his bashfulness and his blunt truthfulness.  
  
"You look well." He tried again. His face turned away, but stealing glances awkwardly.  
  
"I think . . . I think, we're both going to make it." Catherine tried to offer. Nodding, swaying a bit.  
  
"Yeah." His smile came a little easier, if wistful. They both stood a taller as they heard an exuberant call across the establishment:  
  
"SANOSUKE! Get back over here, you loser. You owe me for that last bet in our drinking game."  
  
"Misao." Sano said, pointing behind him with a thumb. "I wonder if she'll forgive me?" He shook his head walking away.  
  
Barely hearing his last comment, Catherine felt the lingering affection again, "She should."  
  
And so much is waiting, oh waiting for me  
  
My guaranteed cemetery  
  
Ruka and Juri had made it as far as the foyer in silence when they both hesitated.  
  
"Maybe we should wait for them?" Ruka said.  
  
"Shouldn't take them too long." Juri felt the same distance between them. The distance that had been a long time forming, and she fought against it. Fought against her resentment and tried to find some thread of understanding. The lights buzzed to fill the first silence.  
  
He was facing away from her, his clothes eerily pale in the neon glow of the front room. Nearer the desk he let his hand rest near the box of toothpicks. After the frustrating day at the hospital, Ruka had disappeared for weeks. Leaving her to wonder what had made him leave again. Not that she hadn't told him to leave in so many ways. Now that he had returned once more . . . she had promised herself to ask the questions.  
  
"I've been thinking."  
  
"Oh." Ruka's voice carried a gently sarcastic lilt. An amiable teasing.  
  
"Yes." Juri continued. "I've been remembering how I felt when Spike tried to come back into my life. He didn't want to be with me. He needed . . . we needed to be free of each other. Freed to remember those years we had had together differently."  
  
She watched him. Realizing that his blank back was not going to respond yet.  
  
"Differently, because he loves Julia." She took a deep breath. "Are you back . . . do you . . . ?"  
  
"It's not like that." Ruka half turned, pulling his chin over his near shoulder to smile at her sadly. "I haven't really loved anyone except you. It's not that . . ."  
  
"I didn't think it was the same," Juri snapped in reply, "Not exactly, I . . ."  
  
"Don't . . . you're so uncomfortable when I say that." He breathed a laugh. "Don't worry."  
  
"Don't worry?" She found her words leveled with tempered bitterness, "You disappeared? You disappear without a word. Only to come back again and again. We've been friends too long for me not to deserve an explanation."  
  
"Friends?" Ruka repeated, then changed the subject, "Maybe we shouldn't wait? They're taking longer than I thought." His voice strangely light compared to his somber face.  
  
"If you came back to make sure that I'm not with Shiori, you're too late." Juri tried again. "I've already managed to shred apart any romantic relationship I might have had with her. She's beyond me now. Safely beyond me."  
  
He watched her carefully. So carefully that she could not discern his reaction. "She not the same girl. You're right. Don't worry. She'll be fine."  
  
"Then what is it?" Juri frowned.  
  
Looking away, Ruka admitted, "I'm watching for you. You only. But I can't . . ."  
  
Juri was distracted as Spike and Julia appeared in the near hallway, calling out. She couldn't remember how to balance her fear and her joy as both came colliding together. "Ruka!" She started as she turned back to see him quickly leaving the theater. "Damn." As she stepped forward, she felt pulled back to see Julia holding her shoulder.  
  
Spike looked after Ruka and groaned. "He chickened out yet again, didn't he?"  
  
"Of what?" Juri looked at him quickly.  
  
The other two shared a look when Julia took the initiative, "Juri, if he hasn't told you-Ruka hasn't been visiting other theaters. He's been . . . ill. And has had a team of physicians researching his condition and providing rather experimental treatment at this point. Even as recently as these past few weeks."  
  
"He what?" Juri asked incredulously ignoring the knot in her gut.  
  
"He doesn't want you to worry." Spike admitted, sadly. "He's taken my advice too well."  
  
"And what was that?"  
  
"To do anything he could to keep you happy." Replied Spike, "And it seems that he can't quite figure out how to do that."  
  
I know this world's got the measure of me  
  
And I know that I'm not quite as sure as I should be  
  
Sure as I should be, sure as I should be . . .  
  
Catherine was surprised again when Heero laughed openly. He'd been quite more comfortable as the evening went on, taking less cues from Trowa and letting Hilde pull him over to the air hockey table for a second time when Trowa had to re-connect the karaoke machine after it was misadjusted by an over enthusiastic Faye Valentine.  
  
She could also see the gradual progression of Trowa's lips to pull downward as Heero seemed more and more focused on the new girl. Perhaps it'd be healthy for her brother and Heero, since it seemed harmless. Still whenever Julia showed up Hilde might leave their company.  
  
With that thought, she did see Spike and Julia slip in the front doors. She wasn't alone as everyone else in the Velvet seemed to turn toward the couple just as they walked in. All stopped whatever they were doing and caused enough of a ruckus that even Faye paused from attempting a Tori Amos song.  
  
"Hey, Heero," Hilde sat down for a moment longer and leaned over to speak with her new friend as if in confidence although everyone could hear her distinct voice, "Who's the solemn looking woman behind them? I meant to ask earlier, she's gorgeous."  
  
"Juri." Heero replied, smiling white against his shadowed skin. His reflexive response to anything Hilde said, even though he still seemed surprised that she'd address the question to him.  
  
"You're right, she does look . . . I'm going to go check on her." Catherine dismissed herself, pushing through those guests intent on congratulating Spike and Julia in order to see the actor standing behind them still. "You've been a long time gone." She greeted Juri. "Want a drink?"  
  
Juri, distracted, shook her head.  
  
"Want to get lost?" Catherine suggested playfully gentle. "We could take a ride around the block on my bike or something. It's brisk out and then you don't . . ."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Glancing back at the others, Catherine smiled, "They'll never miss us."  
  
I know this world's got the measure of me  
  
And I know that I'm not quite as sure as I should be  
  
Sure as I should be, sure as I should be . . .  
  
"I talked to Sano." Catherine said. They'd stopped on the edge of a road that passed the lake. The moon was full overhead causing the surface of the water to sparkle welcomingly.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"It was terribly awkward." Catherine covered her mouth, "I'm so embarrassed. And ashamed. I almost wish I had never gotten into a situation where I would have to feel this way with him."  
  
"Almost wish you had never met him."  
  
Catherine shook her head, "No. Not that. I think if I were honest, that Sano reminded me that I might be able to love someone again. He reminded me what innocent love could be-or look like." She sighed, "Even if I spoiled everything for him."  
  
"He'll survive." Juri said quietly.  
  
"He will. I know he'll live." Catherine started the bike again, speaking a bit more loudly to compensate for the sound of the motor. "Once he's put me in his past, he'll make a fine life for himself with someone else. That's what reassures me the most. I haven't completely ruined his life."  
  
"Once he's free . . ." Juri considered thoughtfully as they continued to drive along the coast line.  
  
And I know that I'm not ever quite as sure as I should be  
  
He pulled back his fingers from the well worn lines to read them again. Read the sentences that might as well have been poetry given her style of putting thoughts on paper. Distracted, incomplete. Full of reasons and almost without reason. She was as unable to be forward at times-as he often was himself. Hiding emotion behind clever words. Depending on the other's understanding.  
  
Ruka  
  
I've been a long time lonely, since you've been gone-  
  
I've thought of you often. And what a mess I've gotten myself into at times.  
  
But don't be afraid of yourself.  
  
Read tea leaves, horoscopes . . . but don't rely on others to determine your future.  
  
Don't be so hard on yourself. Don't be so easy on others.  
  
(And if you die because you're thinking of me only . . .)  
  
Remember how the high school theater smelled when we were children?  
  
I'm not worried. You will do what is best.  
  
If you choose not to be so hard on yourself . . . no.  
  
Juri  
  
"More Christmas cards and another letter," The friendly nurse peaked into his room, "How many letters does that make now? One a week?"  
  
He took the mail with the hand that was not connected to the IV. Fingers that were much stronger than they had been weeks before. "One a week." He said, pleased that his voice no longer sounded as hoarse.  
  
"She must be pretty special."  
  
"Not as special as you, Kiki." His words made her blush prettily. She'd taken care of him diligently for several months and had come to like the young man. "Truthfully, she's a dear friend."  
  
"Well, I'm glad she's watching out for you, sir." The nurse busied herself with the routine checks to which they both belonged. "Now that you've finally committed to treatment-and what a relief that has been for all of us here, sir, let me reassure you!-now that you're here for the long term treatment, it's good to have those letter from old friends."  
  
He smiled as he read through the return addresses of his Road Rage family. Each of them sending support as they were informed. Then tore open the side of the envelope. After the initial letter, her subsequent letters had been brief. Each saying the same thing, which warmed him with the reassurance that she had come to understand him somehow. Enabling her to speak in words that he likewise understood.  
  
Somehow without him ruining her life. Without him having to form the ideas into words. Not knowing how to do that anyway.  
  
"Ruka- Don't worry." 


End file.
